


Oblivion

by nightmeadow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grindelwald Wins, Amnesia, Dimension Travel, M/M, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Master of Death Harry Potter, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 58,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmeadow/pseuds/nightmeadow
Summary: At the mercy of the powerful Gellert Grindelwald, an amnesiac Harry Potter reluctantly accepts to assist in the lord’s search for the Hallows — by spying on the heir to the Cloak of Invisibility, James Potter.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 563
Kudos: 1201
Collections: Best Tomarry Fics, Harry Potter, Necromancer/Master of Death Harry Potter, Reasons I don't have a Life :), i have seen your heart and it is mine





	1. Chapter 1

“Your name, boy.” 

A hand grabbed his hair, lifting his head so he was eye-level to the man that had calmly spoken the order. A simple question, yet his mind only drew blanks.

His interrogator stared at him with piercing eyes, mouth stretched thin as he awaited an answer. He couldn’t recall his own name, but he could certainly tell when danger was in front of him. 

This man all but reeked of a dark, controlling energy. 

The silence stretched long, interrupted only by his soft, shuddering breaths. His hands were sore from where they were hanging above his head, the chains bitingly cold. He had long lost feeling in his limbs, the stinging heat of stretched skin turning numb.

“Sir, perhaps a little _incentive_ —,” a guard in the back interjected, clearly hesitant to break the tension but too impatient with the lack of action. But the man in front of him only raised a hand, silencing the other. A gesture of confidence, of power. 

Despite his own hazy and flickering vision, he could make out the impeccable attire and sharp lines of the face in front of him. The icy, pale eyes that bore into him were frosty. Chilling.

The hand painfully gripping his roots finally relented, but he was yet to be freed from the line of danger.

The older wizard snapped his wand into his hand, the tip of the mahogany stick thrumming in malice as it slowly dragged towards his forehead. He held his breath as it traced his skin in a jagged pattern, an odd sensation cascading through his rigid body seconds later. 

“M-my name,” he gasped out, trying to push down the discomfort. “...I-”

_Harry._

It came from nowhere. 

The name, _his name_ , had surfaced in his thoughts inexplicably. It was almost as though another being had whispered it to him in his _own mind,_ had bestowed him with the most essential part of his identity.

And though he had stopped mid-sentence, something must have shown on his face, for his captor merely waited with an unreadable expression.

“...Harry. It’s Harry.”

The man smiled, wide and wicked. “Harry,” he tested out slowly, the trace of an accent unmistakable this time.

Harry regarded him in unease, warily tracking the minuscule movements of the wand still hovering by his face. He wondered when his interrogator would inevitably turn the innocent, harmless stick into the lethal weapon he knew it could become.

As if sensing the thought, the tip of the wand yet again traveled back to his forehead, not quite touching his bare skin. Icy eyes locked onto his own, a fleeting look of interest flickering for a second before —

“ _Legilimens_.”

The world flashed as bright, kaleidoscopic light erupted from the wand. Harry tried to cringe away from the all-encompassing radiance, but his body refused to comply. 

Blissful nothingness seeped into his mind, so in contrast with the incandescence he had just been subjected to. It was oddly…peaceful. Soothing, almost. 

The calmness was interrupted all too quickly. He sensed a foreign presence in the recesses of his mind, prodding, _hunting_ —

_“Show me.”_

The cruel whisper echoed from all corners, encircling him like vultures would a carcass. Panic laced through his blood like venom, mixed with indignation and uncertainty.

_What happened when there was nothing to see?_

His mind was a blank canvas; every memory plucked away leaving nothing but fleshless bone. 

The relentless force sifting through his addled head eventually halted, withdrawing in a knowing manner. 

“Magical amnesia.” 

This time, the voice came directly above — _and outside_ — his head. Harry blearily peered up at the man, his vision adjusting to the soft glow of the dungeon after the sudden departure from his mindscape.

“I don’t understand,” he said, still dazed from the intrusion. “A simple _obliviate_ wouldn’t have wiped out my entire memory, unless it backfired or something, but then…” 

_“Memory’s gone...backfired…”_

_A phoenix. A sword. A flash of red hair._ _“This is just like magic!”_

Harry swallowed, carefully keeping his bewilderment from showing on his face. “...then I wouldn’t have remembered magic in the first place.” 

“Very good,” the man said, appraising him. Harry glared at the leering gaze, but refrained from provoking the wizard who had just mercilessly ripped into his mind. 

With a low, mocking laugh, his captor pulled his wand back and straightened to his full height. “I suppose it is only fair I give you my own name. Afterall, it is no fault of your own you do not recognize your Lord Grindelwald.”

_Lord?_ He’d been interrogated by _his Lord_ this entire time? If he, Harry, was his subject, then why was he being held captive? Had Harry been a criminal before all of this?

It would certainly account for… _everything_ , really. Why else would he be tied up, personally attended to by this Lord Grindelwald? 

Caught up in this revelation, Harry barely registered Grindelwald turning his back on him for the first time. 

“Rosier.” The name was intoned softly, yet pierced the air as sharply as a barking command would have. The aforementioned guard immediately perked up, eager to fulfill his duty. “Find Karkaroff’s report and leave it in my office. Now.” 

With a sharp _crack_ , the man disapparated. 

“As for the rest of you, I expect full progress reports on each sector by the end of the hour.” They each gave a unanimous affirmation, bowing their heads in a sign of respect. 

One officer took a cautious step forward, gesturing towards Harry. “Sir, the prisoner —” 

“ — is mine to deal with,” Grindelwald snapped, the ever slightest edge in the man’s voice. “Leave.”

Despite his amnesia, Harry was sure he’d never seen wizards apparate that fast. 

Belatedly, he realized he was now alone with _his Lord_. An involuntary shiver ran through his spine, goosebumps rising on his numbed flesh. To his dismay, the man had also caught onto the fact, going off the sly smile he was now sporting. 

“I don’t suppose you could take these off?” Harry asked flatly, gesturing to his chained arms with his chin. 

To his surprise, Grindelwald seemed to actually consider his request, and with a flick of the wrist, the metal fell to the floor with an audible _clang_. Harry opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, there was a bruising grip on his arm and —

The dungeon shifted into a blur, the world tilting on its axis. Harry numbly recognized the tell-tale feeling of a side-along, like being sucked into a narrow tube. 

When he opened his eyes again, he was momentarily startled by the stark contrast of his new location. There was a fireplace in the corner of the room, flames magically kept at a comfortable warmth. The mahogany desk was pristine, organized. Few personal belongings were neatly scattered across the surface, each object’s placement purposeful. In the center was a file, blank with the exception of bold letters at the top left corner: Karkaroff’s report. 

Harry nearly jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder, and he instinctively went for his wand holster — which was no longer there. 

“You weren’t found with a wand,” Grindelwald said simply, face expressionless. Harry’s mind raced with the implication of the statement.

_No wand, no memories, not even a recollection of how he ended up in a dungeon_ —

"Do you know how I found you Harry?"

“ _You_ found me?” Harry asked, mouth agape. It was damning enough that he was being interrogated by his Lord, but the fact that he was captured by the man himself…what the _hell_ had he done?

"It was most…peculiar,” Grindelwald continued, ignoring him. “However, I wish to know something first.” The older wizard leisurely walked past Harry, gracefully pulling out the chair to his desk before gesturing to the opposing seat. The order was clear. 

_Sit._

Harry had half the mind to refuse just to irritate the man. He decided not to press his luck, and besides, his knees still hurt from their earlier mistreatment. He hesitantly sat down, watchful of his bruised limbs. 

“Do you recognize this wand?" 

Grindelwald had carefully placed his own wand down on the table, a manner so at odds with his domineering character. Harry reluctantly examined the thin stick, tracing the individual knots on the wood.

It was…familiar. But not in the way it should have been if he had, indeed, seen the wand before. It was more of a feeling, an aura that surrounded the wand that his very own being seemed to recognize. 

He inhaled sharply, and Grindelwald seized on the reaction. 

"So you do," he murmured quietly, intrigue blatantly showing. "Fascinating. I wonder, if the same holds true for this." 

He waved his hand, procuring a leatherbound book out of thin air. 

_The Tales of Beedle the Bard._

"Is that a _children's book?_ " Harry asked, bewildered. "Why-"

"Do you know the ‘Tale of the Three Brothers’?"

"I told you, I don't remember anything, why would I remember a _fairy tale_ of all things?"

Grindelwald didn’t seem to mind his outburst. In fact, the man looked _amused_. “...You are unaware of the repercussions of your curse.”

Harry gripped the edge of his chair, annoyance mounting at the patronizing tone. 

“I suspected, but had to confirm with legilimency if it truly was magical amnesia. It’s a powerful ritual that manipulates the mind’s abilities to recess emotions; far more tedious to successfully cast than the Memory Charm. Having said that, the results are far more… _rewarding_. You will find that your general knowledge of the world remains intact, while memories of personal matters will continue to elude you.” 

“So I’d remember trivial _stories_ I’ve read in the past?”

“Considering most are not _emotionally tied_ to ‘trivial stories’, yes. Alas, it appears you do not recall this particular book,” Grindelwald said, stroking the cover of the book almost lovingly. Harry looked away from the display, unsettled. 

“Maybe I’ve never read it.” 

"Perhaps,” he conceded. “Yet, you recognized my wand." 

Harry stayed silent. 

“It would be remiss of me to keep you in the dark,” Grindelwald finally said, when it became clear Harry would keep quiet. Warily, he watched the older wizard lift the cover of the book and flip through the pages. “Ah, here it is. ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers’.” 

Grindelwald held the book in one hand, and settled into his chair before he began to read: “There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight —”

_“Midnight…”_

A whisper of a word echoed in his brain, but Harry deliberately ignored it. But as Grindelwald’s voice washed over him, another, more feminine voice began to overlap him word for word. 

“And Death spoke to them —”

_“...a fairy tale, Harry!”_

“— asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence —”

_“...sneak up on people…sorry, Hermione…”_

“And so Death took the first brother for his own.”

_“And so Death took the second brother for his own.”_

“And then he greeted Death as an old friend —”

_“—_ _and went with him gladly —”_

“— and, equals, they departed this life.”

_“The Elder Wand.” A deeper, raspier voice_ . _“The Resurrection Stone. The Cloak of Invisibility. Together…”_

“The Deathly Hallows,” Harry breathed, and with the way Grindelwald glanced up from his book, it was obvious he heard him. A strange look flashed through the man’s eyes, but Harry was miles away.

He’d heard someone reading the exact same words as Grindelwald, had even _seen_ outlines of people. A girl with long, bushy hair. A boy with red hair. An older man with shoulder-length white hair. He heard his own name even, and someone else’s… 

Hermione.

The name was at once foreign and achingly familiar. His chest swelled with emotion as a wave of grief welled up without warning, mourning the name that once must have easily fallen off his lips.

A privilege he never knew he had, one he never knew could be ripped away from him. 

He could almost see the silvery outlines of the girl he once knew, book open on a page that had been folded in the corner. He could almost taste the fondness in the back of his mind, could almost imagine being in the room with the stranger he had once known intimately.

When he blinked again, the girl had vanished. In place of warm, brown eyes were a shocking blue — almost white in its cold, calculating scrutiny.

Harry watched in trepidation as Grindelwald snapped the book shut and placed it on the desk between them, those disconcerting eyes never leaving his own. 

The older wizard, noticing his attentiveness, leaned forward in his seat and rested his chin on interlaced fingers. “What intrigues me most,” he started conversationally, “is that you remember your own name.” 

His name? Out of everything that happened, he doubted his _name_ was truly the most interesting. He was about to tell the wizard so himself, when he caught up with Grindelwald’s train of thought. 

_His name, of course!_

“I remembered my own name. Something _personal_ …how?” he wondered aloud, refusing to think about the — _flashbacks? Hallucinations?_ — for now. “It was almost like…something, a voice, had-”

“Given you the information?” Grindelwald interrupted, gaze intense. Harry nodded.

“It’s conceivable that the caster can share the memories without undoing the spell, feeding you scraps of information at their convenience.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “You recalled your own name mere minutes after I inquired. Though it may simply be a coincidence…” 

“You think the caster knew?” 

“It’s a possibility,” he allowed. 

Harry’s mind raced. It wasn’t definite, but there was a high likelihood that the person who had done this to him _knew_ he would be captured and interrogated.

Somebody had cast this on him, had wanted him to be so lost, and clueless, and —

_What if he deserved it?_

Shoving away the treacherous thought, Harry focused on the matter at hand; mainly, the lord casually reclining on the seat across from his own. 

“...You never said how you found me.” 

"I did not," the man agreed. Grindelwald got up from his seat, taking his time as he made his way around the desk.

His imposing figure stopped barely a foot away from his chair, and Harry resisted the urge to get up and put some space between them.

"It happened three nights ago," Grindelwald said softly, face turned towards the window. Harry followed the man's gaze, observing the woods that stood only a mile or so away.

The forest was absurdly dark, an ominous feeling emanating from the shrouds of darkness each tree created. 

"I was led by my dutiful wand, a brilliant glow that shimmered its way through the darkest parts of the Forbidden Forest. Of course, I obeyed its call if nothing but out of curiosity. And there you were, lying in the center of a clearing far deeper than most would dare wander. Unconscious and injured, but alive nonetheless." 

“I was going to kill you,” Grindelwald continued nonchalantly, twirling the wand in his hand. Harry’s blood ran cold, all too aware of his own vulnerability. He inadvertently thought of the row of _followers_ in the back of the dungeon, their reverence and fear of the lord undeniable.

"What changed?" Harry asked, quiet but daring. His heart was beating loud in his chest, adrenaline beginning to pump through his veins. Grindelwald’s piercing eyes finally turned to him, tracing his features unabashedly. 

“Your resemblance to the Potters.”

Harry spluttered, gut churning in an odd mixture of fear, confusion and, _damn him_ , reluctant curiosity.

Potter. Another name, evoking foreign sensations he wished he could place. Was that his surname? His family, who may be looking for him, wondering where he had gone? 

"I was uninformed there was a Potter offspring other than the heir," Grindelwald commented lightly, heedless of Harry’s brooding. "I do wonder how they covered up a bastard child so well. Most impressive." 

_A bastard child._

All the contemplation on what he’d done, as though he was someone of _importance_ , felt almost childish. The explanation was simple; he was illegitimate, and the family had decided to be rid of him in a simple and clean manner.

He didn’t _resent_ them or anything, but maybe that was why they did it. Maybe he _had_ been angry, and that was why they wiped out his memory, leaving him as a husk of a person —

"What would you do, right now, if I were to let you go?" 

Harry’s head snapped towards Grindelwald, lips parting as he inhaled in surprise. It was unsettling, really, how disjointed he felt right now. The conversation, if it really could be called one, left him feeling whiplashed as he tried to navigate what the man wanted from him. 

"You'd let me go?" he asked finally, cautiously. Grindelwald said nothing, looking at him expectantly.

Harry hadn’t planned that far ahead. He hadn’t planned _at all_ , because he had no clue who he was, where he was, and who exactly had cursed him in the first place. 

“...I don’t have anywhere to go to,” he admitted reluctantly, gritting his teeth as he realized this was exactly the conclusion the lord wanted him to arrive at. 

"Indeed,” Grindelwald murmured, tone cruel and mocking. His fingers reached for Harry’s chin, grasping it firmly. “You have nowhere to go, Harry _Potter_." 

Harry nearly bared his teeth at the man, before reminding himself exactly who he was talking to. 

“I have an offer,” Grindelwald began, lowering his voice. “And if you take it, I promise you I will find who stole your memories.” 

“An offer,” Harry repeated flatly, immediately suspicious. 

“Find James Potter. You will befriend him, claiming a distant relation. Considering the recent deaths of Lord and Lady Potter, ingratiating yourself with the boy will be simple.” The grip on his jaw tightened at Harry’s wide-eyed disbelief. “Your task is simple: gather information on the Potter heir and maintain a correspondence at least once a week.”

“...He’s family,” Harry whispered, stunned. “You-, I can’t _spy_ on him!” 

Grindelwald laughed, quiet yet chilling. “And that family abandoned you. Left you. Stripped you of your identity.” 

“You don’t know that,” Harry hissed, wrenching his face from the fingers digging into his skin.

For a moment, he was certain he would be cursed; Grindelwald’s face had contorted into an expression of pure fury, wand in hand, the tip dangerously close to his ribcage. 

A beat passed. Harry looked straight into the man’s arctic eyes, daring him to do something. Anything. 

Only, Grindelwald retracted the wand. 

_Why?_

The older wizard was not merciful. The acts of intimidation, the physical overbearance, his words laced with unassuming threats all added up to a cruel, ruthless disposition. But not once had Grindelwald tortured or cursed him for his insolence. 

_Why?_ Harry wondered again, but dared not to voice his question.

“Most don’t believe in the existence of the Deathly Hallows. Afterall, it is but a children’s tale,” Grindelwald said, hand lovingly caressing his wand. “Still, there are ancient records that have proven the existence of the three brothers. After years of research, I finally uncovered one line of descension.” 

“...The Potters,” Harry finished for him. 

“Yes. If the old texts are to be believed, they are in possession of a certain family heirloom.” 

_The Cloak of Invisibility._

Harry swallowed. “So then, that wand in your hand —”

Grindelwald smiled, teeth razor sharp.

“You see, uniting the Hallows has been a goal of mine since the very beginning. As you might imagine, I am rather… impatient. My first instinct was to slaughter the Potters and take what I wanted.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Britain,” Grindelwald muttered, as though that explained anything. Harry refrained from raising his eyebrows at the almost, dare he say it, _petulant_ way the man had regarded the country. 

“It appears I must approach this in a different way for you. Allow me to be blunt: you will either find James Potter out of your own volition, or I will lock you up in the dungeon until your memories are returned, and then hunt down every last one of your loved ones.” 

Harry’s heart seized. He thought of the ghosts of the people he saw, that he must have known once before. The inexplicable feelings of fondness that bubbled up at the image of a redheaded boy and a bushy-haired girl, their voices soothing his loneliness. 

“...I’ll do it.”


	2. Chapter 2

_12 May 1979_

_Education Reform Act to be Implemented in the United States_

_The Magical Congress of the United States of America announces the end of negotiations between its magical and muggle ambassadors. Supreme Leader Gellert Grindelwald attends the last of the talks, and is due to address the American public to welcome them as allies to the regime._

_The Education Reform Act, implemented across Europe after the Muggle Armageddon that depopulated their numbers worldwide, have positively reinforced a cooperative and meaningful relationship between wizardingkind and the non-magical community. When first introduced in 1951, the Act only applied to Muggleborn individuals already integrated into wizarding society_ — _serving as a trial run of sorts. After an initial setback, all Muggleborns were fully immersed into the reeducation classes by the late 50s. In fact, Beauxbaton Academy of Magic will be marking its 20th anniversary of its first reeducation class on the 14th._

_The early 60s marked the beginning of a new world order; Lord Grindelwald, staying true to his slogan_ ‘For the Greater Good’ _, came to an agreement with the sovereign muggle governments across the continent. The muggles, combating mass annihilation after decades of global terrorism in what they called “Nuclear Warfare”, were in need of a tool unattainable to themselves: magic. With the help of magical beings, the muggles were able to escape total extinction._

_(cont. Page 3, column 5)_

Harry’s fingers dug into the newspaper, creasing the edges with the force of his grip. The moving picture distorted, but continued to loop the same image nevertheless.

The man photographed was walking through a crowd of reporters, his confident gait easily recognizable. There were a few politicians trailing behind Grindelwald, dressed in expensive, form-fitting robes. Not that anyone took notice of them. 

It didn't take him long to realize that Grindelwald wasn’t just some cult leader with a dedicated following. Harry might have amnesia, but he wasn’t completely oblivious.

Still, it came as a shock when the man he was spying for turned out to be _the ruler of the entire continent of Europe._

And by the looks of it, he was quickly spreading his sphere of influence. How long would it be before the wizard ruled over the Americas? 

_The rest of the world?_

Not to mention this _Education Reform_ _Act._ It was obviously a revolutionary legislation that changed the entire structure of the world. And yet, he had no recollection of such a significant change in his life. In fact, when Harry tried to think back on what he could remember, the gaps in his memory were…disturbingly great.

He should have been able to remember things he learned in the newspapers. In history lessons. Major global events. But all he could think of were the countless goblin rebellions over the centuries. He vaguely recalled the Muggle World Wars, but did it really go on for decades? Besides, he was positive there had been two separate war periods... 

Harry winced as his head throbbed from another oncoming headache. An unfortunate side effect of thinking too hard, it would seem, of facts that he was _emotionally tied_ to.

Crumpling the newspaper in his hand, he threw the offending paper off to the side, and watched detachedly as it rolled to a stop under the window ledge. With a muttered _incendio_ , the paper burnt to crisp. 

His brief respite was quickly quashed by an indignant _hoot_.

"Piss off," Harry muttered from the safety of his bed. 

The owl perched outside his window had appeared early in the day, in all its white-feathered, squawking glory. It had made its presence known _far_ earlier in the morning than acceptable; the creature had somehow bypassed the soundproof charm on the glass pane. No doubt the work of the bird’s owner. 

Harry sighed at the reminder, running both hands through his hair. A week had already passed since he'd woken up in captivity, which meant that within the next 24 hours, he’d have to write a personal message to _Supreme Leader Gellert Grindelwald._

His mission, so to speak, was straightforward. Grindelwald was adamant that he would be instantly recognized as a Potter. From there, the Potter heir was bound to contact him personally and arrange a meeting between the two.

All Harry had to do was pretend to be a close confidant, and report everything to the lord no matter how trivial the information seemed. 

As for how he would explain his sudden existence...

_“The best lies are made of half-truths, Mr. Potter.”_

Harry scowled as he remembered the irritatingly unhelpful parting words, uttered right as he was unceremoniously flooed into the Leaky Cauldron. Luckily, the pub was vacant for the most part, with only a few people lingering around paying no mind to their surroundings. 

From there, he had booked a room with the generous bag of galleons given to him, a glamour securely covering his appearance. He explored Diagon Alley the next day under a disillusionment spell, in what he knew was a fruitless attempt to prolong the inevitable.

It was pointless, of course, and only served to make Harry feel marginally better about possibly ( _definitely_ ) endangering his own relative. 

But it was the 12th now, and a letter detailing his morning routine would surely be met with displeasure, to say the least. Which meant he would have to deliberately show his face out in public, and consequently brought to meet — _his half-sibling?_ — James Potter. 

A particularly enthusiastic peck pulled him from his brooding, and he glared at the bothersome owl. The bird only cocked its head in an eerily human manner, as though questioning his evident irritability, eyes wide and innocent. 

A brief staring contest later, the owl lost its interest and started dispassionately preening its feathers. 

He wondered what other spells Grindelwald might have cast on the creature, and tried not to think about the possibility of being hexed _himself_. 

With another heaving sigh, Harry pushed off the bed and dragged himself towards the bathroom. The floorboards creaked under the pressure, the rough wood clearly seeing better days. Still, the rooms at the Leaky Cauldron were more than comfortable for Harry. He had a feeling he’d lived in much worse conditions than the old but oddly cozy room he was staying in. 

“My, my. Fix that bird’s nest of yours, dearest, before it lays eggs!” 

On a second thought, he should reconsider his assessment of the lodging. 

Harry rubbed his eyes as he turned towards the mirror, fixing it an exasperated look. His reflection only winked in response, smiling cheekily at his disgruntled expression. 

Harry didn't bother to give it a response, instead reaching out to turn the faucet on. He cupped his hands under the steady stream of water, letting it pool for a moment before splashing it onto his face. 

Blinking the droplets from his eyelashes, Harry finally looked up and examined his face. He reluctantly had to agree with the mirror; his bedhead was horrendous. He distantly wondered if James Potter also shared this particular trait, or if it was perhaps from his mother’s side. 

Considering what had happened last week, Harry’s guess was that most of his features were attributed to the Potter genes. 

It was…inconvenient that Grindelwald had proved to be right, and on his first interaction with another wizard nonetheless. After strolling through Diagon Alley and basking in the vague familiarity of the place, he had stopped by a wand shop that sparked an odd sense of deja vu and a whisper of a memory in the back of his mind. 

The feeling had only grown when he stepped foot into the store, and met pale, almost translucent eyes. 

_“Ah, Mr. Potter. A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance_ — _it has been awhile now, hasn’t it?”_

Ollivander was a strange man, his gaze a little too knowing. Harry had felt distinctly uncomfortable during the entire encounter, and was more than glad to leave after acquiring a holly and phoenix wand to replace the borrowed wand he was given by Grindelwald. 

He tried not to think of the overwhelming intimacy blossoming under the pads of his fingers on the wood, or Ollivander’s mutterings of “ _Curious…curious._ ” 

Harry didn’t bother to linger and ask what, exactly, was curious. He had gotten more than he wanted, including confirmation that he really would be noticed in public. 

He stared into the water pooling in the sink, green eyes distorted in the ripples of the liquid. His mess of black hair shot out in all different directions, somehow defying gravity even though his head was bent over the sink. No doubt a most distinctive family trait.

“Really, you look awful, mate.” 

Harry whipped his head up at the mirror, his reflection showing wide eyes and parted lips. For a second, it had almost sounded like… 

_No, he wouldn’t think about it._

But once his mind trespassed on those memories he desperately locked away, he couldn’t seem to pull himself out.

It was addicting, these flashbacks. Harry cherished each one, latched onto everything and anything that could hint at his past. His family, even if it was painfully obvious it was _not_ by blood. 

Most featured the redhead ( _Ron_ ) and Hermione, traces of insignificant, idle chatter flittering into existence and fading out as quickly as they came. But Harry couldn’t help but covet every word, every ordinary gesture that he witnessed. 

He quickly caught onto how every memory was triggered by _something_. His surroundings, an object, a phrase he heard in passing, anything. But it was always some sort of recreation of the memory. 

Sometimes they were so vivid, he could hardly separate past and present. Other times, they were faint echoes of forgotten words, faces, touches, places. A blink, and only the ghost of an impression would remain. 

They came and went throughout the week, each leaving him longing for the next, and simultaneously dreading it. 

Though he desperately wanted his memories back, it almost felt as though the more he saw, the less he knew of his past. He would walk down the alley and vividly picture —

_Colorful, glittering sparks of magic weaving between shops and stalls, displaying all sorts of magical artifacts. Children running around with toy broomsticks, chocolate frogs, and bright fabrics charmed to glow in the sun. Parents were smiling, couples holding hands, strangers greeting each other in cheer._

— and turn around to see an altogether different reality —

_Barred windows, pamphlets and wanted posters plastered on every open space. The streets nearly empty, save for loitering wizards and close-knit groups hurriedly walking past. Palpable tension surfacing whenever people passed one another, fear and distrust apparent._

They were jumbled fragments of his past, fractured pieces that never quite seemed to fit. Worse, everything he saw in the present just…never seemed to add up.

He didn’t want to consider the possibility he was hallucinating.

But even _that_ seemed more plausible than everything he had seen ( _imagined?_ ) in the past week. Afterall, how could Diagon Alley suddenly have changed so much in less than two decades? There was no _Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes_ in Diagon Alley. But Florean Fortescue and Ollivanders very much did exist in the present…except his memories proved otherwise.

The timeframe didn’t add up.

As if that wasn’t enough to distress him, there was also the mission and _Grindelwald_ looming above him. The man had all but confessed to thinking of killing him off, after all. 

In the middle of the Forbidden Forest.

What was he doing there that night? And who had put in the effort to cast a complex, dark ritual on him? A week ago, he was certain it was the Potters. But why now, without any precaution to hide his appearance or at least disfigure him? Had it not been for Grindelwald, Harry wouldn’t have disillusioned himself in public. 

_Had it not been for Grindelwald’s wand,_ he corrected himself. And wasn’t _that_ a whole different headache he certainly did not want to deal with at the moment. Or ever. 

The Elder Wand, one of the Deathly Hallows, leading the most powerful man alive to _him_. An ordinary, illegitimate child. 

Merlin, he was in _such_ a mess. 

Registering he’d let the tap run far longer than necessary, Harry hastily turned the faucet and watched the water drain. As per routine, he charmed his glasses clean and turned to walk out the bathroom door. 

“No glamour, dear?” his mirror questioned dubiously. 

Harry knew the quip was supposed to be a jab at his appearance, but he couldn’t muster up the strength to banter with it. He could only manage a sad smile and said, “Not today.”

When he passed by the window on his way out, Grindelwald’s owl was still perched in the same spot. Inexplicably, perhaps longing for solidarity, Harry opened the window and let the owl fly in. 

“Tonight,” he promised the bird as it latched onto his arm, “you’ll get your letter.”

With a low croon, the bird nudged its beak against his fingers. If he found himself gently petting its feathers…Well, no one was around to call him out for it.

* * *

Harry felt oddly exposed, walking around without the disillusionment. His skin prickled in apprehension, as though any second now someone would call him an imposter, uncover him as the _bastard_ that he was.

Early as it was, there were few people in the Leaky Cauldron. Though he usually exchanged greetings with the barman, Tom, today the wizard was engaged in conversation with another customer. Taking the chance, he easily slipped past the bar and made a swift exit without anyone the wiser. 

For the first time in a week, Harry Potter stepped out into the streets of Diagon Alley with his true face. 

The morning was relatively peaceful. Harry walked down the alley and back, enjoying the sun on his body without the stifling feeling of the camouflaging charm. There were some glances in his direction, and a few times he wondered if people had almost greeted him before discovering something was _off_ about him. 

Other than that, he managed to walk into a cafe, buy himself a cup of tea, and idly read the paper without being singled out.

He knew it wouldn’t last for long. 

It happened when Harry was lurking outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, admiring the new broom models that were glistening within their glass cases. Too focused on reading the engravings in the silver plates, Harry didn’t notice the person heading in his direction, visible in the reflection if he had paid more attention. 

It wasn’t until an exasperated voice rang out from behind that he realized there was someone talking to _him_. 

Even if the words were meant for another. 

“I just _knew_ I'd find you skulking about here, you quidditch-obsessed prat!” 

A hand looped around his arm, pulling him around to face whoever had spoken. Harry stared at where their skin touched, unexpectedly surprised by the human contact.

It didn’t last; after a sharp inhale, the fingers had hastily unwound themselves from where they had grasped his limb.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I thought you were —”

Harry blinked.

And stared straight into eyes as green as his own.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. 

It certainly wasn’t attraction — no, the emotion thrumming in his heart went far beyond that. It was a pull unlike anything he had ever felt, and he felt crushed by an overwhelming sense of _longing and_ _anguish_ —

“Who are you?”

He couldn’t help but let the question slip, almost timidly, afraid that she would fade away and vanish forever. Like his memories had. 

It was an absurd notion. Afterall, she was an ordinary witch he had just met in the streets of Diagon Alley. 

_Or had he met her before?_

She had dark red hair spilling past her shoulders, the color of glowing embers in the catch of sunlight. There _was_ something familiar about her, the feeling only intensifying as he brought his gaze up to those viridian eyes dancing with mirth.

He belatedly realized what, exactly, was amusing her. In his state of stupor, she had stretched her hand out towards him in an unmet handshake, and judging from her expectant face, she had already given him her name.

“Lily,” the girl repeated, voice warm and friendly. Harry flushed, looking at the outstretched limb for only a moment longer before bringing his own hand up to clasp it. 

Her palm was only a little smaller than his own, her fingers calloused in all the same places. The chain bracelet wrapped around her wrist bumped against his own hand, and he was surprised to note that it was warm to the touch. He supposed it wasn’t so surprising; her whole essence seemed to radiate warmth. 

He could feel the back of his mind stir, could easily identify it as a repressed memory by now. With considerable will, he pushed the memory down and locked it far, far away. 

It worked. 

“...I’m Harry,” he finally responded, his words coming out in barely a whisper. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said with a small smile. It was ethereal. 

They held onto each other’s hands far longer than what was considered proper. But there was something about Lily that captivated him, that made him want to stare at her for eternity —

— _a mirror, tall and magnificent among the dusty desks and chairs piled against the walls. It stood out like a sore thumb, beckoning him to come closer, to take a quick peak into the secrets it held in its reflection. What was the harm? It was only a mirror. He took a step closer, the sound resonating within the dark, abandoned classroom. His cloak sliding off his shoulders, Harry met his own reflection with wide eyes as_ —

“-ey, hey, you alright there?” 

_That_ was real, Harry realized dazedly, clinging onto the voice outside his head and so alive and here and _not in his mind._

“I’m fine,” Harry said once his throat unclogged, “I’m fine, I’m sorry.”

“You’re good, kid, don’t apologize,” someone decidedly _not_ feminine said, the low tenor easygoing and confident.

Blinking the haze from his vision, Harry stood there stupidly for another minute without saying another word.

Because there stood James Potter, and there was no doubt about that. Harry would’ve thought he’d looked into a mirror —

_“It shows us…the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts.”_

— if it weren’t for hazel eyes, the nose, the jaw, and… and Harry didn’t have a smile like that, cheeky and mischievous. The Potter heir had a dimple on his right cheek, but his skin was unblemished whereas Harry’s had the lightest smattering of freckles after long hours in the sun. 

“James Potter,” the boy introduced, still grinning. 

Harry took the hand offered. Shook it once. Twice.

“Harry,” he said, and none of them commented on the unsaid last name. 

“Well, Lils,” James started, slinging an arm around the girl. “I’d be offended you were holding hands with another boy, but junior here has quite the dashing looks if I do say so myself.”

Lily arched an eyebrow at his theatrics, before her lips quirked up in the same enrapturing smile.

“Careful, Potter, your narcissism is showing.”

Harry laughed along with them, ignoring the ache in his heart and the echo of a phantom memory whispering in his ear. 

* * *

“You can’t remember anything at all? I mean, about your parents? Your family?”

Harry shook his head, fiddling with the spoon in his hand. Lily and James exchanged a look, communicating with each other without speaking.

“Merlin, this is…Harry, this is bad, _really_ bad. Whoever did this to you could face a trial at the ministry, even in _this_ regime, and that’s saying something.” James folded his arms, leaning back against the booth and tilting his head up at the ceiling. 

They were back in the cafe Harry had visited that morning, the large French windows pouring a generous amount of sunlight into the cozy space. In the lulls of the conversation, it was soothing to hear the melodic sound of an old, wooden piano softly playing its tune in the background. The worn rugs and old bookcases only added to the charm of ‘Lily’s Garden’; coincidentally, Lily’s favorite place to eat out. 

Upon sharing this information, a smug James Potter had jumped on the opportunity to throw her own words back at her, stage-whispering to Harry, “ _Now who’s the narcissist, huh?_ ”

It was unfortunate Harry had to go ahead and dim the lighthearted atmosphere with talk of his amnesia. But they couldn’t maintain the facade much longer; it was painfully obvious that he and James were related by blood, and they would want an explanation. 

So explain Harry did. Or, as Grindelwald had so kindly suggested, he gave them a version that only _omitted_ half the details. He told them of how he’d woken up (in the Forbidden Forest) and stumbled upon a wizard (also known as Lord Grindelwald) who helped him find lodging at the Leaky Cauldron (among other things). 

Which was how Harry found himself sipping a warm cup of rooibos tea in front of James and Lily Potter, the young couple listening attentively to him in growing horror. 

But they listened without interrupting, and in any other circumstance, he would have been beyond grateful. Now, it only served as a painful reminder that he was endangering genuinely good people who were welcoming him with open arms.

Endangering them from the most powerful and dangerous wizard alive.

Harry's stomach lurched, and the way Lily discreetly pushed another croissant in his direction only worsened his self-disgust, even as he accepted the pastry. 

“First things first, we should get your blood test done and find out who your parents are. They might give us a clue about who you grew up with and who you might have had altercations with that led to, well, this whole thing,” James said, gesturing to Harry’s head. 

“Right. Yeah, I can do that,” Harry agreed, nodding mechanically. 

James sent a reassuring grin his way, and Harry, with bile crawling up his throat, smiled back. 

“So… I suppose we should head to Gringotts then?” he asked.

The two looked at him in confusion.

“They used to run blood tests at Gringotts, but that was back in the 40s before…before the new regime,” Lily explained, fidgeting with her silver bracelet. “The Ancestry Registration Office gives a much more efficient and _extensive_ information on an individual’s background.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, and desperately didn’t think about why he didn’t know this. 

“Lils, why don’t you head back to the manor? I can take Harry and meet up with you later.” Lily nodded in clear relief, gathering her things with a flick of her wand. 

Harry watched as she made her way up to a wait staff, speaking quietly with her head inclined respectfully. She was acting almost deferential to the witch that was handing her the Floo Powder, so in contrast to the self-assured way she carried herself the entire morning. Strange. 

He uneasily turned back to James. The boy was smiling, but Harry was surprised to note an undercurrent of tension visible in the too-straight posture and too-tight grip on his cup. 

“Well, let’s get this over with then,” James said apologetically, pushing himself up from his chair. Harry nodded, pushing down the guilt gnawing at him. He followed the wizard out of the bar, keeping his head down at the none too covert glances thrown their way. 

James took it all in a stride, seemingly unbothered. 

The walk was relatively short. They reached a narrow, polished building right next to Gringotts in a matter of minutes, almost hidden compared to the grandeur that was the Wizarding Bank. 

“Here we are,” James looked over his shoulder, “I suppose I’ll wait out here then.” 

Harry nodded, unable to look at him in his eyes. As soon as he stepped through these doors, he was a traitor to the boy standing behind him. The boy who had looked at him so trustingly, had clearly wanted to replace the pain of losing his parents.

And Harry was going to turn that against him. 

_I’m doing this for Ron_ , he told himself. _For Hermione._

Repeating the thought like a mantra, he pushed the door open without looking back.

The first thing that came to mind was how small the office was. Cramped, even. There were few people in the space itself, and half of them were filing paper after paper behind a row of deep, mahogany desks. 

“Name?” a dull voice spoke right beside him.

“Ah, Harry. Harry Potter.”

“Age?”

“18. I think,” he said, then winced.

The witch behind the desk leveled him a skeptical look, before sighing and handing him a sheet of parchment paper along with a quill. 

“Fill this out and come back once your name is called.” 

Harry took the items with a mumbled _thank you_ , before quickly turning towards an empty table. He glanced over the form he was handed, observing that it consisted mostly of personal information. 

With a sigh, Harry reached out to grab a quill across from him. But just as he was about to dip the tip of the feather into the ink pot, his eyes caught movement from the table next to his. 

Or rather, the catch of light glinting off of a familiar metal accessory. 

It was an ordinary silver bracelet, rather unremarkable in every way. Yet he’d noticed the exact same one wrapped around Lily’s wrist when they’d shook hands, the delicate chain polished but simple. Thinking back, he could also recall seeing the same bracelet over the past week on a few passerbys. 

Odd. 

“Mister Potter,” a voice called out urgently, pulling him from his thoughts.

It was the same witch who had given him his forms, although this time, she sounded much more strained and frantic. Had something gone wrong?

Harry stood up cautiously, trying to gauge the woman’s expression. She was holding a slim sheet in one hand, constantly looking back and forth between whatever was written on it and his face, as though trying to confirm the impossible. 

“Is everything alright?” Harry asked once they were close enough. 

“I- I must apologize, Mr. Potter. I was unaware of your identity and your-” her voice suddenly lowered to a hush, “your _mission_.” 

So Grindelwald was already a step ahead of him then. Harry wasn’t surprised per say, but still… 

It was an unsettling reminder. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, I should’ve mentioned it first,” Harry finally said, trying to reassure the woman. Her skin had gone quite pale, but at the words, some of the tension in her body gave away and she gave a hesitant, if shaky smile. 

“It was no fault of your own, sir, only mine. Here are your official documents.”

“Oh. Thank you,” Harry mumbled awkwardly, taking the paper. “Should I finish the forms first or…?”

“No, no. _You_ are certainly not required to complete them.” 

A little bewildered at the change in attitude but not one to question it, Harry left with a nod, official documents in hand. 

Documents that would condemn the boy waiting for him outside. 

_Don’t_ , Harry told himself, and instead guided his attention to the thick parchment he was holding. 

_Approved by the Ancestry Registration Office,_ the stamp at the top read. Skimming the legalities, Harry scanned the document for what they came for. 

_Registered individual: Harry Potter of the *Wizarding Family of Potters_

_Age: 18 years_

_Father: Charlus Potter - Pureblood._

_Mother: Olive Baker - Muggle._

_Blood Status: Half-Blood._

_Identification tag: Null_

_Individual decreed safe by authorities. Further restrictions have been lifted._

“All set, Harry?”

James was casually leaning against the wall, the picture of laid-back indifference if not for the ever slightest tic of his fingers drumming along his wand. 

“All set,” Harry replied, and noticing James' gaze dropping to the parchment, wordlessly handed it over. 

James took it from his hand with visible restraint, quickly scanning the words. “Uncle Charlus…well, I’m not exactly surprised but —”

He cut himself off, as though suddenly remembering he wasn’t alone. James flushed, delicately clearing his throat and hastily apologizing. Harry waved him off, gesturing for him to continue. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. Uncle Charlus died last year, and never spoke of his‒, of your mother.”

Harry shrugged. It probably should have hurt him more to hear this, but without a single memory of them, it was hard to muster up any grief. 

“So...that makes you my cousin,” James said slowly. And then he flashed him a brilliant smile, one Harry couldn’t help but return. 

By the time Harry returned to his rented room at the Leaky Cauldron, not even the sight of the owl could diminish his good mood. That is, until he saw that the bird had something tied to its leg.

A package. 

He cautiously approached the window, the owl’s eyes never straying from his own. As soon as the frame unlocked and swung open, a flurry of wings invaded his vision. 

The bird landed on his bed, its talon hanging over the bedside. The package was small enough to fit in his palm, a simple cube shape that didn’t so much as hint at its contents. 

Without further contemplation, Harry reached over and undid the string. The magical wrapping unfolded itself instantly, and a small pin landed on his palm. 

As soon as it touched the skin of his hand, there was a nauseating pull on his navel. 

_A portkey,_ Harry thought in horror. 

This wasn’t part of the plan. Harry wasn’t supposed to meet up with Grindelwald. Wasn’t he busy enough ruling over the world? And what were they going to do? Gossip about a 19-year old over some crumpets and tea? 

Clenching his jaw, he kept his rising panic at bay as he came down from the portkey and into a familiar room.

“Harry, how generous of you to join me tonight,” Grindelwald called out from where he was leaning against his desk languidly. Harry stumbled onto his feet, regarding the wizard warily. “Apologies for the lack of warning.” 

Merlin, were they really doing this?

“I believe I was unclear with you during our first meeting,” the man continued, easily filling in the silence. “You see, Harry, I have rather high expectations of operatives serving for me, for the greater good of the regime. When I tell you to send me a report —”

Grindelwald took a step forward. 

“— I expect your greatest effort.” 

Arctic eyes met his own. 

“I apologize, sir, but I just made progress with the mission and was planning to write up as soon as I could,” Harry explained calmly, trying to gauge the man’s motives.

“Harry, Harry. That, right there, is the issue. _Just made progress._ You see, I was notified mere hours ago that your official ancestry documents were filed and registered. Documents which, I presume, were necessary upon your initial meeting with the Potter heir?”

“...Yes.” 

“Then, am I correct in assuming that not only did you fail to search out James Potter for a week, you also deliberately hid your face from the public?”

“Yes,” Harry said again, dread pooling at Grindelwald’s blank expression. 

“Come here.”

“Sir?”

“Must I repeat myself?” Grindelwald shot back, voice turning cold. Harry shook his head quickly, taking three, four careful steps towards the man. 

In a flash, Harry was on his knees, magic weighing down on his body. 

“It appears I have been exceedingly lenient with you, Harry,” Grindelwald’s wand lightly traced his jaw, “and though I dearly hate to do this, it must be done.”

He leaned in close and whispered, _“For the Greater Good.”_

The Elder wand moved to point at his forearm, sizzling sparks searing into the thin skin. The scent of charred flesh filled the air, as Harry detachedly watched the wand carve into his arm. 

And then Grindelwald murmured an incantation of sorts, and all Harry could feel was _pain_. 

Blinding, white-hot heat licked at the bone, his left arm sagging at the sudden onslaught. Distantly, Harry heard Grindelwald tutting as he grabbed at the fragile limb, and the contact between their skin burned even hotter. 

_There was venom coursing through his veins, the fang in his arm pulsing as it pierced deeper into his flesh. Someone was looming above him, but his vision was so hazy all he could make out was a dark shadow._

No, no it was clearly Grindelwald standing above him, smoldering eyes never wavering from his own. But then blond hair distorted to black, features shifting into an unrecognizable blur — 

— _of scarlet. A gentle caress on his shoulder. Something crooned in his ear, the noise melodic in the damp place he was lying in. A wet, cool droplet suddenly landed on the blistering heat, soothing the stabbing pain..._

...Harry blinked as another tear rolled off his cheek and onto his forearm. The tip of the Elder wand was replaced by a calloused hand, grasping his limp arm with considerable strength. His gaze followed the hand up to its owner, staring at Grindelwald’s pleased smile incomprehensibly.

The wizard oozed satisfaction, his earlier irritation completely gone. He had done something to him, to his arm. Harry slowly brought his attention back down to his limb. 

_His forearm, bright with red liquid gushing from a deep puncture in his skin_ —

No, no. There wasn’t a droplet of blood on his arm. In fact, the skin was completely unblemished, save for…

A tattoo. 

Triangle. Circle. Line.

A _brand._

“What did you do?” Harry asked, voice hoarse. “What did you _do_?”

The grip on his arm tightened, crushing and bruising. 

“A necessary precaution, easily repeatable if you’d like,” Grindelwald said, his tone light despite the blatant threat of his words. 

Harry kept his mouth closed, opting to heed the warning despite every cell in his body bathing in boiling fury. 

_Yield,_ he told himself. _Yield, and strike later._

His forearm throbbed at the thought, and Grindelwald smirked. 

“As lovely as it has been to see you this evening, I’m afraid I have other matters to attend to,” he said, releasing his hold on Harry's arm. Harry refused to examine the mark on his skin, and instead focused on the lord still hovering over him.

“The portkey will take you back to your lodgings. No need to send me a letter tonight, I’m certain we have covered everything needed to be shared.” 

A subtle flick of the wand, and the magic weighing down on his body vanished. Harry flexed his muscles, testing their strength before getting up on shaky knees.

When he finally stood up, Grindelwald was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [**Lily's Garden**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18824134) written by the wonderful and amazing [**hereThereBeDraugr**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereThereBeDraugr)  
>  If you haven't already read this masterpiece, then shoo! Come back once you've finished ;)


	4. Chapter 4

_“Stupefy! Incarcarous! Petrificus Totalus!”_

The spells sizzled through the air, sparks of light exploding from where they made contact.

His target dodged every attack, swiftly evading each one. Harry’s frustration grew as each aim failed to be true, his opponent advancing on him. 

“Damnit — _Aguamenti!_ ” he cried out, and a powerful burst of water shot out from his wand and directly into the approaching figure. Harry barely restrained himself from cheering in triumph, quickly incarcerating the foe before any attempts at escape were made. 

“Not so high and mighty now, are we?” Harry taunted, looking down at his captive. 

The owl squawked in indignation, soaking feathers dripping onto his bed.

Shit, his _bed._

An obnoxiously loud _hoot_ followed him as he scrambled for his wand, and Harry just _knew_ the bird was throwing his own words back at him. 

He quickly levitated the drenched creature away from his sheets, scowling as droplets sprayed all over his sheets at the action. 

Dumping the owl on the floor, Harry crouched down to inform it that he, as a capable wizard, can easily charm the bed dry _thank you very much._

The winged demon only cocked its head, opening its beak to give a mocking titter. 

“The _audacity,_ ” Harry hissed through clenched teeth, “I could keep you tied up, you know.”

At this, the bird seemed to deflate, crooning and peering up at him with large, amber eyes. 

_Eyes that softened in reassurance, the low hoot gentler than her usual, fiery call to him. Her attitude a moment earlier was gone, the red indent from a particularly harsh nip on his finger the only reminder._

_In a blur of snowy-white, she took off into the sunrise, wings wide and magnificent._

_“...Hedwig.”_

He felt a beak pinch his finger. 

_Oh_ , Harry thought. _That was real._

The owl, the _real_ one, had somehow managed to escape from its confinement and was now hopping about on the floor, ruffling its feathers in a rather dramatic display.

“What do you want, hm?” The bird squawked in response, loudly, before finally settling once it realized it had caught his undivided attention.

Harry rolled his eyes, getting up off the floor (when had he lied down?) and back to the chair where he had previously been sitting before the disruption. 

Right. He had fought a bloody _owl_ for the past ten minutes. 

In his defense, it had been the first time he’d seen the bird since it had gifted him a portkey straight into Grindelwald’s lair. He knew it was unfair to blame it but… 

It was an unpleasant reminder of that night. 

The tattoo on his forearm had settled over the past few days, angry red skin fading away to leave only the black ink. The Deathly Hallows symbol was about the size of his palm, the thick lines dark and bold. 

He traced the pattern with his forefinger, his nerves only tingling at the touch. Gone was the searing heat that imprinted his flesh. 

If it weren’t for the obvious mark left behind, he would’ve thought he’d hallucinated it all. 

Not that he _wanted_ tangible proof. Dormant though it appeared to be, it still represented an altogether disgusting notion: that he was shackled to Grindelwald, the leash only going as far as his _owner_ wanted it to go. 

A succession of knocks on the door pulled him from his rapidly darkening thoughts, and Harry hastily glamoured his forearm before tugging the sleeve up. 

“Come in,” Harry said loudly, hurrying to his window where the owl was still perched. He tried to shoo it away with little success, and glowered at the bird when it bit his fingers unapologetically. 

“Oh, what a beautiful owl!” Lily exclaimed from behind him. The bird preened at the words, ruffling its wings importantly. “Does she have a name?”

“Er —,” he started, thinking of amber eyes and snowy white feathers. “Hedwig. Her name is Hedwig.”

“Hedwig,” Lily repeated, gently stroking the bird’s head. Hedwig let out an almost cat-like purr, cooing at the attention. 

And if Harry's hand joined in...well. It didn't mean anything.

Though from the smug side-eye Hedwig sent his way, Harry wasn’t sure that got through its thick skull. 

“James should be here any minute,” Lily said, her fingers moving down to scratch Hedwig under the neck. Harry only hummed in response, eyes straying past Hedwig’s head and out towards the streets of Diagon Alley. 

He was surprised to see the crowd had thinned out, leaving only a few stragglers here and there. Compared to the flurry of shoppers typically bustling about at this hour, Diagon was practically barren. 

That was when he spotted movement in the corner of his eye, a flash of distinctive robes that seemed vaguely familiar. 

But just as Harry turned towards Lily to ask her about it, the door bursted open. 

“Breakfast!” James Potter announced, his dramatic entrance tearing Harry from his thoughts.

“Quit the theatrics, Potter, before you scare your cousin off,” Lily scolded, but her lips were quirking up in a smile. James gave her a quick peck on her cheek, setting down the food with a flourish of his wand. 

Harry stood there awkwardly as the two easily settled into their own seats, trying to fight off the sight of his best friends replacing the scene in front of him. 

“Come on then Harry, dig in,” Ron said, pulling out a seat for him.

 _Lily,_ he reminded himself. _Not Ron._

Shaking his head, Harry thanked her quietly and slipped into the chair. 

“I set up an appointment with the mind healer I mentioned in my letter yesterday,” James said, setting down his fork. 

“Oh, um. Thank you. Healer Mckinnon, right? How much was it? I can pay for —”

“Nonsense,” Lily cut him off, “she’s a close friend of ours, actually. Don’t worry about it.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest again, but deflated under Lily’s stern gaze. Mumbling another gratitude, he quickly shoved a piece of fruit into his mouth, chewing slowly to avoid confrontation. Lily was sweet, but… 

Well, he had a feeling she could be very, very _unsweet_ when it came to arguments.

“We could fit a trip to Gringotts too, if you’re not busy. The bank won’t allow you into the family vault just yet, but we can set up a trust fund and start transferring some today,” James said casually, as though he wasn’t offering a large sum of money to someone who was practically a stranger. 

But just as Harry was about to refuse, a harsh pounding interrupted their conversation. 

The change in atmosphere was instantaneous; both Lily and James stiffened in their seats, the former harshly pulling her sleeve over her wrist as James shot out of his chair, wand in hand. 

He looked back at them, nodding at Lily, before slowly opening the door. 

“Rosier,” James said flatly, and Harry jolted at the familiar name. 

Rosier. He was one of the guards in the dungeon last week, one of Grindelwald’s men. 

_Fuck._

“Routine check, Potter. Now if you’d step out of my way, _please._ ” With evident reluctance, James edged away from the door, glaring at the wizard who took a stride into the room. 

Rosie’s gaze immediately landed on Lily, a sneer beginning to twist his mouth. Harry and Lily both got out of their chairs abruptly, the motion causing the man to finally take notice of him. 

The instant Rosier’s eyes met his own, he saw rather than heard the sharp inhalation, comprehension dawning on the other’s face. 

_Fuck._

“And who might you be?” Rosier asked quietly, recovering from the revelation with a mask firmly in place. 

“My cousin. No tag. So I’ll ask you to _back off,_ ” James spoke before Harry could, moving to stand in front of him. Rosier held Harry’s gaze a moment longer, before breaking away with a low chuckle. 

“In that case,” Rosier drawled, “then perhaps the Mudblood won’t mind indulging me.”

 _Mudblood?_

James tensed at the word, his face contorting into a snarl. Harry watched as Rosier turned to Lily, and it suddenly clicked. 

It was Lily that Rosier was here for. 

Harry reached for his wand, mimicking James as he took up a defensive stance. 

But before either of them could move, Lily stepped right into Rosier’s space, thrusting her arm out. Her silver bracelet clinked at the movement, the only noise in the sudden silence. 

“Here,” Lily said scathingly, “if you want to touch my _filthy skin_ that badly.”

Rosier’s expression turned furious, seemingly debating whether to raise his wand, or act out the dignified persona he attempted to display. 

“Very well,” he said, evidently opting for the latter. 

It was plain and clear that Rosier had some sort of authority here, and was unafraid to lord it over them. But why single out Lily? 

He had called her something — a Mudblood. 

An insult towards muggleborns, Harry gathered. But why did that matter? From what he read in the papers, the non-magical community was all but integrated into Wizarding society…wasn’t it?

But Harry couldn’t ponder for long, because Rosier had grabbed Lily’s arm in one swift motion. 

_“Ostentum Conquiro,"_ Rosier whispered maliciously, the tip of his wand connecting to the delicate chain on Lily’s wrist. The silver started glowing a fiery red, the heat sizzling. 

_— his sleeve forced past his elbow, the vivid red tattoo bleeding into jet-black as a pale, spidery finger pressed into the ink-stained skin, the hunched figure suddenly howling in pain —_

Harry bit his lip as the thin skin above his right eye prickled, his head pounding fiercely.

Nobody had made a sound.

There was no cloaked wizard whimpering for mercy, no tattoo on Lily’s forearm. 

_Focus,_ he told himself, gritting his teeth at the onslaught of pulsating heat in his brain. 

“Twice this week you’ve met with Caradoc Dearborn, a known violator of the Second Regulation,” Rosier was saying.

He suddenly yanked Lily by her bracelet, leering down at her even as he directed his next words to James. “Your wife must be rather unsatisfied, if she’s seeking the company of another mutt.”

“You _bastard_ —” James seethed, his wand shaking in his hand. Rosier tutted. 

“Behave, Potter. Wouldn’t want to get tagged yourself, now, would you?” 

“You’ve gotten what you wanted,” Lily snapped, quiet but furious. “You’ve no other business here now, do you _sir?_ ”

Rosier’s grip on Lily’s wrist tightened, and again Harry’s stomach lurched as he saw the man’s wand jump in his grasp. 

And then Rosier flashed a discreet look towards Harry’s direction. 

It was so quick, he thought he’d imagined it. But with the way Rosier suddenly calmed, as though reassuring himself, Harry came to the chilling realization that the man would no longer bother them anymore.

Rosier would get his retribution. Through _Harry._

“Good day to all of you,” he said, mockingly polite. With one final sneer at Lily, Rosier let go of her and disapparated on the spot. 

The room was deafeningly silent. 

Harry took a small step backwards into his chair, disbelief from the encounter numbing his mind. 

He’d known Grindelwald’s reign couldn’t possibly have been as perfect as it’d seemed in the papers. There was simply no way the lord had created a utopia with _that_ sort of personality. 

But what he had just witnessed…

Lily and James knew exactly what Rosier would do. 

This was- this was _normal._

That complete, utter violation of a human being was _normal._

...And Harry was just as complicit as Rosier. Perhaps even more. Because at least with Rosier, they knew what they were up against.

But Harry? Harry was an infiltrator, a parasite masquerading as a friend, leeching off of the kindness they proffered to him unwittingly. Rosier may be foul and unpleasant, but what Harry did, what he was still doing, was downright _vile._

And yet, he knew he would continue the charade. 

A low croon sounded from the other end of the room, somber and mournful.

Hedwig flew over and landed on his shoulder, nipping his ear in an uncharacteristically gentle manner. Harry reached an absent hand to her head, letting her nudge it as he mindlessly stared at the half-finished plate in front of him. 

He didn’t feel hungry anymore. 

A shared sentiment, he thought, as Lily took a seat across from him and shoved her own plate away, folding her hands in front of her. Despite the ordeal she just went through, Lily looked as calm and collected as ever. 

Harry chanced a glance towards James. He barely acknowledged Harry, face taut and back rigid as he stiffly sat down in his own chair. His hazel eyes were narrowed on the door as though Rosier would saunter back in any minute. 

The silence stretched on, until Harry suddenly couldn't bear it anymore.

“What was that?” he blurted out, eyes wide as he stared at Lily’s seemingly harmless bracelet. 

Unbidden, his hand moved to his own brand on the flesh of his forearm. 

“My identification tag,” Lily said bitterly, wringing the chain. The bracelet was wrapped even tighter on her skin, rubbing red circles around her wrist. “It’s on every magical individual that’s perceived to be _politically risky_ to the regime.”

“Essentially: all muggleborns, some half-bloods, and the occasional blood-traitor,” James added, voice hard.

“But — _why?_ ” Harry asked, bewildered. 

“You’ve been reading the papers, right?” He nodded. “Well it’s all bullshit. The whole magic-to-help-muggles campaign, the treaty back in ‘62, the Education Reform classes for muggleborns, all of it.”

“His slogan may be for ‘The Greater Good’, but it’s only for his quintessential, Pureblood society,” Lily spat, her eyes ablaze. 

“But that’s ridiculous,” Harry said, dumbfounded. “Why does blood even matter? And why _wouldn’t_ we help the muggles?”

“Beats me,” James muttered darkly. 

“And, and that spell he used? On your… tag?” The word tasted like ash in his mouth. 

“It shows where I’ve been at any time, and which tagged individuals I may have been in close vicinity with. Tracking us so we don’t group together.”

“...Because uniting all of you would pose a threat to him,” Harry concluded. Lily and James nodded gravely. 

Then something occurred to Harry; his own documents had mentioned ‘restrictions’ being lifted on his end, and a moment ago, Rosier had mentioned the violation of a ‘Second Regulation’.

He voiced as much to the two.

“The official regulations, yes.” Lily looked down at her hands. “The restrictions placed on a person varies. The most common are abiding to spot checks, which you saw earlier; attending Ministry assemblies to show loyalty; denied entry to the Muggle Sectors; and reporting suspicious behavior or rebel activity.” 

“Breaking them, of course, leads to severe punishment and the imposition of further regulations.”

Harry sat back in his chair, shaking his head. “And this is _normal?_ Everyone just…accepts it? I mean- don’t they care?”

James suddenly looked directly at Harry, eyes glinting gold in the rays of morning light. “Lils,” he suddenly said, and Harry wasn’t sure the gleam in his irises was from the sun anymore. 

Lily looked at James, then stared at Harry for a moment, only to turn back to James. 

“We’ll have to check with McGonagall first,” she said flippantly, but shared a secret smile with him. 

“Sorry, am I missing something?” Harry asked, looking back and forth between them. 

James grinned mischievously. 

“Say, how do you feel about being part of a revolution?”


	5. Chapter 5

Harry couldn’t deny the rush he felt. 

There was something powerful, something intoxicating about his words.

About the promise of change, the thrill of rebellion. Something _monumental_. 

Harry wanted it. He wanted to stand against the lord who branded him, the man that had threatened his friends. 

But the heady feeling wasn’t enough to brush away the niggling doubt in the very back of his mind. The part that was sealed away from him. 

It echoed one, clear message: a warning. 

So even as he nodded, his thoughts couldn’t help but fixate on the depravity of war, the bloodshed of battle, and the cold kiss of death. 

He shivered despite the warmth seeping into the room. 

* * *

They take their time at the Leaky Cauldron, Lily and James trying to explain what little they could since Harry wasn’t officially part of the “Order” yet. 

_The Order of the Phoenix._

He ignored the rush of memories racing to fill the void in his mind, focusing instead on Lily’s voice as she told him of the grim reality they lived in.

She spoke of the British Adoption Center for Muggleborn Children. Of the caretakers that disciplined them, brainwashing them with the regime's propaganda. Of going to Hogwarts and being forced to take the reeducation classes, where muggleborns were only taught household charms and other rudimentary spells.

“We never questioned it,” James confessed, looking down at his hands. “All the purebloods abided by the status quo. It was expected of muggleborns to work in menial jobs, and for purebloods to get high positions in the ministry or whatever their chosen field was.”

“It’s a stratified hierarchy based almost entirely on blood because muggleborns, with their parentage, are more likely to sympathize with muggles.” 

“So muggles are…?” Harry enquired, though he could already make a guess. 

“At the very bottom rung,” Lily said. “The Muggle Sectors were designed to contain and exploit them. To remind them of their inferiority to their magic-wielding counterparts. Only the wealthy purebloods are allowed to enter the sectors.”

“Maybe before the Muggle Armageddon, before nuclear war wiped so many muggles out, the situation would have been reversed. A world in which wizardingkind would have been enslaved by the muggles for their magical abilities. But without their numbers, and weakened by the radiation that had no cure other than magic, they were no fight against Grindelwald’s bloodthirst.”

There was a silence after that, as Harry tried to absorb all the information he had heard. 

After waking up without any of his memories, he’d been trying to make sense of his surroundings for the past week; reading newspapers, people-watching, eavesdropping on conversations, everything he could while under the disillusionment spell. 

Still, he had learned next to nothing. How had he missed so much?

…And why couldn’t he remember _any_ of it?

While the flashbacks he had from time to time were often brief and indiscernible, not once had he seen someone wearing a bracelet — or even heard any mention of Gellert Grindelwald, as a matter of fact. 

Harry bit his lip, trying to sort out the dissonance his mind was in. 

_Okay, the start. Take it back to the start._

Lily had first mentioned being born to muggles, which was why she grew up in the adoption center. For some reason, that thought struck out to him in particular.

“You’ve never met your parents?”

Lily shook her head. “They take us away as soon as magic is detected. I- I don’t remember when that was, but…” 

“They obliviated her,” James said gravely. “If a muggleborn child grows too attached and remembers their muggle parents, that’s the simplest solution.”

“A clean slate,” Lily scoffed, fists curling.

Obliviation. 

Harry had wondered why he never saw memories of his parents — or at least his muggle mother, since Charlus Potter had more than likely never known of his existence. 

But if he was born in one of those Muggle Sectors, assumed as a muggleborn, and taken to the adoption center…

That could account for why he couldn't remember his mother's face. And the peculiar familiarity he felt when he saw Lily.

Then why hadn’t Lily recognized him? Even if he were in the year below, they would have slept in the same dormitory at Hogwarts, according to her. 

Everytime he thought he was getting closer to figuring things out, _something_ didn’t add up. And he was back to being more confused than ever. 

Harry ran a hand through his hair, head beginning to throb.

“Okay there, Harry?” James asked. 

“Yeah, sorry. I’m just trying to find out where I fit into all this. I mean, if my mother was a muggle —”

“Then you should have ended up in the same place as me,” Lily breathed, following his train of thought. “But I don’t remember you. And- if you came to Hogwarts, there’s no way James wouldn’t have found out about you.”

Right. 

So there goes _that_ theory. 

“Can you imagine that though? Two Potters strutting around Hogwarts. Oh, the _horror_ ,” Lily said in feigned shock. 

“Hey!” James cried out, hand flying to his chest. “I did not _strut_.” 

“Mhm. Sure you didn’t.”

“Harry, don’t listen to her. We Potters have a legacy to be proud of,” James said to him, puffing out his chest.

“Oh yes, the famous Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion — fat lot of good it did to your rat’s nest!”

Harry snickered at James’ dejected expression, but quickly stopped himself as Lily’s mischievous grin turned to him. “Speaking of messy hair…”

“At least I don’t strut?” Harry offered.

“True,” Lily conceded, ignoring James’ offended outcry. 

The three of them burst out into laughter, the gravity of their earlier conversation put aside for now. It was nice to have moments like these, joking around like normal teenagers. 

Maybe before he got into this mess, before Grindelwald, before his amnesia...maybe he was just a normal teenager, without a sadistic dark lord hovering over his every step. 

It seemed like a faraway notion. 

_But,_ Harry decided, _I'm so glad I met these two._

“Lils, what time was that appointment with Marlene again?”

“Oh, in about-,” she paused, casting a quick charm to show the time.

“ _Shit._ ”

* * *

Healer Mckinnon was younger than Harry expected, 23 years old and already renowned in her field. Her short, blonde hair curled around her ears, framing a slender face. She was tall, or at least taller than Lily and Harry, which wasn't all too unusual if Harry was being honest. What _was_ unusual was how her brown eyes had glimmered with keen interest as soon as he stepped through the door.

He wondered if that had anything to do with James' sudden departure. 

Harry opened his mouth to address the healer, taking the chance to introduce himself after Lily apologized for their tardiness. He barely got a sound out before the witch tapped her wand under his chin to close it shut. 

“Ah, ah, Harry. Call me Marlene,” she said, a wide grin in place.

“Marlene,” Lily huffed, shooting her an exasperated look. Marlene blinked, then her mouth opened as she let out a small _oh_ in realization. 

“He… didn’t say anything out loud, did he?” At Lily’s unimpressed visage, Marlene sighed in defeat and threw an affectionate arm around the other. “Just remember, if it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t have found out about James’ —”

Lily clapped a hand over Marlene’s mouth, her cheeks quickly matching the color of her hair. “Ignore her!” 

Marlene gave a muffled laugh, prying Lily’s hand off with several placations (but not before sending Harry a conspiratorial wink). Lily, despite her stern posture, couldn’t stifle a snort at the witch’s antics. And neither could Harry help but smile at the friendly display.

For a second, he thought he saw Marlene’s eyes take on a curious glint, looking between him and Lily. But the moment passed, and the witch seemed as casual and unbothered as before. 

“Sorry, Harry, I’m afraid it's a bad habit of mind healers to read people’s surface thoughts,” Marlene said, sitting back down on her stool. She swiveled around to face her workspace, sifting through the parchment scattered across the desk. “Full legilimency, on the otherhand, is not so simple nor subtle. I’ll always tell you when I read your mind, and of course, only with your consent.”

Levitating a piece of parchment, the witch turned to him. “Alright then, Mr. Potter. Let’s take a peek at your file…”

“Patient found alone with no wand, no magical objects, or magical residue in surrounding areas. Medically diagnosed by Healer Selwyn on the 5 of May with magical amnesia.” 

She looked up at him. “And nobody has contacted you in this past week or so?”

Harry shook his head. 

“Hm. That’s… a little odd.” She frowned, quill twirling in her hand slowly. “I’m sure you’ve been told already, but the quickest solution is to track down the caster. Unfortunately, that’s a bit more complicated, and I’m not authorized to conduct such a ritual.”

Harry barely restrained himself from smacking his head. 

It wasn’t that he’d _forgotten_ he’d been cursed, but with everything going on with Grindelwald, meeting James and Lily, and the constant memories haunting his waking moments, it was hard to remember there was somebody out there who had done this to him. And he still didn’t have a clue as to who it could be. Or, at least, he assumed Grindelwald hadn’t figured it out yet. 

Though considering what a complete and utter _bastard_ the man was… 

His arm twinged at the thought of the Lord, and Harry suppressed the urge to scratch at the glamored tattoo marring his skin. 

“The good news,” Marlene continued, “is that there are mind exercises you can do to organize what you _do_ know. I’m sure it feels like your mind is a vacuum right now, but your new memories will ‘take up space’ as we go along...”

Something must have shown on his face at this statement, because Marlene had trailed off, cocking her head with obvious intrigue. 

“It’s just, it doesn’t really feel empty? My mind, I mean,” Harry clarified. 

“Oh?” Marlene leaned forwards, staring at him intently. 

“I get these flashbacks, I guess. And I think it’s my memories from the past. Well, I don’t know for sure but they don’t _feel_ like hallucinations —”

“ _Fascinating,_ ” Marlene breathed, a wide grin spreading on her lips. “Well, well, well. _That_ is certainly not normal.”

“Marlene,” Lily hissed, “friend or not, he’s still a patient.”

“Okay, okay! Sorry, Harry.” The witch cleared her throat, returning to her previous air of professionalism, though her magic continued to brim with enthusiasm. “These memories, how often do you get them?”

“It varies. Sometimes I get multiple within an hour, but other times I’ll have none.”

“And the memories are random?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Harry said. “They always follow certain phrases, places, people, that sort of thing.”

Marlene hummed, furiously writing on her parchment. “People, you say?”

Harry nodded. “Nothing that vivid with people, to be honest, but…”

His eyes slid involuntarily to Lily’s. 

He hadn’t seen anything, yet there was definitely something tugging at his mind on the day he met James and Lily Potter. 

When he faced Marlene again, her eyes had narrowed on him, sharp and astute. With a shrewd look, she probed: “And what are the most vivid memories like?”

Harry had a feeling that wasn’t the question she wanted to ask, but answered nonetheless. “They feel real. Like I’m back in the past. Sometimes I only hear words, or see outlines of faces, but the most detailed ones always feel like I’m _there_ , and not here.”

Marlene paused at that, her quill stilling in her hand. 

“And this shift…do you notice the change in your surroundings?”

“I guess, yeah. I always _know_ when I’m in a memory, but sometimes I-, I get lost in them. If I try, I can bring myself back but —”

“You don’t want to,” Marlene finished for him. 

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. The noise of scratching filled the air, occasionally interrupted by Marlene dipping the tip into the inkpot. 

Harry took the time to look around the space, avoiding eye contact with Lily as he did so. He didn’t want to see pity in her gaze, or let her see the fear no doubt reflected in his own. 

Because Harry was afraid. He couldn’t deny it any longer. 

Sometimes, he wondered if there would come a day that his mind refused to separate reality from illusion. 

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and opted to observe Marlene as she finished writing her (rather lengthy) notes down. 

With a flourish, the mind healer waved her quill and parchment back to her workspace, giving him her full attention. “Now we get to the practical part.”

“Legilimency?” Harry guessed. 

Marlene nodded. “That way I can help you compartmentalize your memories. This…unexpected addition definitely changes things, so the process might take a bit longer, if that’s alright.”

“We have plenty of time, since Order meeting isn’t until dusk,” Lily interjected. 

“Oh, there’s a meeting tonight?” Marlene asked. At Lily’s loud sigh, she hastily waved a hand with reassurances to be there. 

“You better be,” Lily muttered, shaking her head. 

“Anyways,” Marlene said, clapping her hands, “let’s get started, Harry. This might be a little uncomfortable.” 

She slipped her ebony wand into hand, the tip of the wood glowing softly. Harry tried not to think of the last time he was legilimized, desperately shoving down the memory of the dungeon and Grindelwald and —

_His memories of Grindelwald._

Harry’s eyes widened as he opened his mouth to stop Marlene, but it was already too late. 

“ _Legilimens,_ ” she whispered, and a familiar light invaded his vision, clouding it. 

_It’s fine,_ Harry told himself frantically, _just clear your mind._

_Clear your mind._

That same, peaceful lull fell over his mindscape, and Harry greedily accepted it. 

He was ready for the invasion, for the foreign presence of the mind healer that would soon make herself known. Bracing himself, Harry obeyed the soothing nothingness thrumming through him. 

Except it never came.

Instead, there was darkness. Unnoticeable at first, but slowly it swelled and seeped into his mind. It grew, infesting every corner it bled into, muffling his screams. A bottomless pit of endless, shrouding darkness. 

Snuffing out every noise, leaving only an eerie silence in its place. 

And then —

_“Power. Longing. Humility.”_

Fear lodged in his throat as a sibilant whisper swept past him, around him, _circling_ him as one would its prey. His body was numb, frozen, completely vulnerable to the lurking husk rippling in his periphery. 

But no matter how hard he tried to turn, his body would not comply. The corner of his eye kept catching the flickering shade crawling just outside of view, slithering around unseen. 

_“Master. Conqueror. Vanquisher.”_

The voice was neither masculine nor feminine. A cacophony of sound, void of emotion.

“Harry.”

And all of a sudden, his mindscape was crumbling, ripping, shredding apart —

“Harry!” 

An ice-cold sensation spread across his face as Harry blinked —

 _Oh,_ Harry realized, blinking again. _He could move again._

He clenched his stark-white fingers, numbness slowly thawing. His vision cleared, eyes slowly focusing on the bright red glow in front of him. 

“Harry? Can you hear me?” Lily Potter repeated, worry evident. 

“...Yes?” Harry answered. Fingers now mobile, he went to adjust his glasses that had gone askew. He was surprised to note that his fingers came away with droplets of water beading on the skin, and then it occurred to him that his face was wet.

“Ah, sorry about that,” Marlene piped up, scratching the back of her neck. “You were a little, um, out of it?” 

“You…blasted me with water,” Harry said, perplexed. At Marlene’s innocent shrug, his eyes instantly narrowed. “What happened?”

“Well,” Marlene started. At Lily’s nudge, she yelped and confessed: “In short terms, I couldn’t legilimize you.”

Oh. That was a bit odd, considering Grindelwald seemed to manage just fine with the same spell only a week and a half prior. But he supposed this time there was that —

Harry frowned. He’d sworn he’d seen something significant just a second ago. Yet the thought was fleeting, somehow escaping his attention and slipping away, away… 

“Harry?” Lily called, and Harry’s head snapped up.

“Sorry. Just lost in thought.”

“And does that _thought_ have anything to do with the cement-like occlumency barrier wrapped around your mindscape?” Marlene asked lightly, but her eyes were sharp. 

“A what?”

“What in _Merlin’s-,_ how the bloody hell did you perform complex mind magic without even knowing what it is?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Harry exclaimed, turning to Lily for help. But the other witch, too, looked equally stunned.

Harry looked between the two in amounting unease, perturbed by their expressions. Marlene, taking pity on him, let the matter drop with a shake of her head and a muttered “you, my friend, are a complete anomaly.” 

He gave her an apologetic smile, knowing the healer had wanted to interrogate him for answers he clearly did not have. 

Luckily, Marlene seemed appeased. For now. 

“Here,” she suddenly said, procuring a square object out of nowhere.

Harry took it into his hand, glancing down at the cover. The black leather-bound book was slim and sleek, and fit perfectly into his palms. 

He flipped it from cover to cover, noting the pristine pages each had a date imprinted in the left corner. 

A diary. 

He stared at the blank page, entirely unsurprised when it suddenly looked a shade or two darker, words bleeding onto the pages.

_My name is Harry Potter…_

Harry shook his head, clearing the vision of dripping ink. 

“A memory?” Marlene questioned, the glint in her eyes strong as ever. Harry nodded. 

“I probably owned a diary before,” he marveled aloud, the rush of desire to read about his past life sudden and intense. “But I only caught a glimpse,” he admitted, wondering if this was what the mind healer had hoped for. 

“Not what I was thinking, but it would’ve been nice if it had worked.” Marlene tapped her wand against the cover, and a cursive _Harry Potter_ inscribed itself on the bottom. “No, this is for writing those memories down. To keep track of them, since I couldn’t help you there.”

“Oh,” Harry said, oddly warmed. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” Marlene said, a genuine smile playing on her lips. 

Lily passed him one of the office quills, before turning to chat quietly with Marlene about mundane things. A gesture to give him some privacy, Harry realized. Twirling the borrowed quill around in his fingers, he turned his attention back down to the diary. He was debating what to start with — his factual knowledge or the distorted fragments of his memories — when a large owl flew into the room, circling them twice before dropping a letter into Lily’s lap. 

The bird perched itself on Marlene’s desk, nipping at her. Unspoken, the witch materialized a handful of treats and presented it to the ravenous owl. 

Harry was pulled from the scene at Lily’s soft exclamation, where she was intently reading the letter given to her. 

“It’s from Minerva! Harry can come and meet everyone in the Order tonight,” she announced, eyes bright until they dropped to the diary in his lap. “Oh, unless you want to write your memories down instead…?” 

“No, no it’s alright. I can do that another time,” Harry said, intrigued by the prospect of meeting the other Order members. 

_Although…_

His mind drifted to Grindelwald and the tattoo concealed on his forearm. 

Would the man know of his whereabouts? Without the bracelet, it wasn’t like his followers could spot-check Harry and report back. And supposedly, legilimency no longer worked on him. 

_I’ll be careful,_ he promised himself. 

There was something important about this ‘Order of the Phoenix’. And if it could lead him to resolving his amnesia without relying on Grindelwald, then he had to at least try.

“There’s a floo network just downstairs. How ‘bout we all go together?” Marlene suggested. She shooed the owl out the window, and sorted her hazardous workspace with a whispered incantation. 

“One moment, I’ll let James know,” Lily said, whipping her wand out in one, fluid movement. 

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” 

A dazzling, silver doe sprang out of the tip of her wand, dancing around the room in a trail of shimmering light. 

“Harry’s coming to the meeting tonight. We’re heading over now, just to alert everyone already there,” Lily told the patronus. The doe reared its head, giving Lily an affirmative. 

It galloped away in a stream of silver, but not before butting its head affectionately against Harry’s hand. He laughed as the glistening projection weaved through his fingertips, leaving him with an aftertaste of pure warmth and happiness. 

“Right, then.” Marlene leapt up from her stool, stretching her hands above her head before resting them on her hips. “Ready to floo to Potter Manor?”

“That’s where the Order headquarters are located,” Lily added, already heading out the door. 

Harry hummed in acknowledgement, and followed the two down to the fireplace. The room was empty, much to their relief. 

“Never know who’s a spy for Grindelwald these days,” Marlene murmured under her breath, and Harry’s heart stuttered at the comment. 

The witch appeared wholly unaware of Harry’s panic, thankfully. She had swept past him in long strides, loudly proclaiming she would go first so that Harry wouldn’t be stranded in the manor’s living room alone. 

After Marlene disappeared in a burst of green flames, Harry reached for his own handful of floo powder, his heartbeat returning to its normal rhythm.

“Harry,” Lily called out suddenly, voice uncertain. “I just-, I feel like we dumped a lot onto you today. And I want you to know that if you ever feel like it’s too much, you can back out, okay? This sort of thing… it’s not an easy decision to make, and it’s dangerous, too —”

“Lily,” Harry interrupted, and flashed her a grin. At her confused stare, he gave her a thumbs up and flung his hand down towards the fire. 

_“Potter Manor!”_


	6. Chapter 6

“Now _that_ was a most tragic landing.”

Harry coughed again, spluttering as he inhaled more ash from the fire pit. After hacking up a lung, he tried to glare up at Marlene — who didn’t bother to hold in her laughter any longer — but the smoke had all but rendered him half-blind. 

Blearily aware of a hand being offered to him, Harry immediately grabbed the lifeline. His ass was too sore to let his pride get in the way. 

“Up, up, there we go,” Marlene said teasingly, pulling him up off the floor. 

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, brushing the dust of his robes. His cheeks only reddened more when Lily walked out of the fire a moment later, as graceful as he was decidedly _un_ graceful. 

As she greeted the two of them, Lily peered at his face in curiosity. He had a feeling she knew exactly what had happened, when she commented idly, “Ah- Harry, you’ve got a smudge on your nose.” 

Harry automatically went to clean it off, but dropped his hand when Lily tutted at him with her hands on her hips. 

“Here, let me…?” She asked, lifting her own hand towards his face questioningly. Harry nodded, letting her wipe the ash off of him carefully. 

“There,” she said, and gave him a tentative smile Harry couldn’t help but reciprocate. 

Neither noticed Marlene’s lingering gaze. 

Lily turned towards one of the many hallways connecting to the room they were in, gesturing for Harry and Marlene to follow her while dutifully ignoring Marlene’s loud protests that she _‘knew the way there as an honorary Potter, damnit.’_

They walked through a large corridor, the portraits blatantly eyeing Harry as he walked past them. He tuned out the gossip that followed, choosing instead to scrutinize the grandiose wallpaper of Potter Manor. 

The deep red color was certainly eye-catching, but not too bright to the point of becoming unbearable. It went nicely with the mahogany wooding of the building, the warm hue seeming to glow from the dim lighting of the crystal chandeliers. 

Looking closer, there were designs of an antlered creature interwoven between the intricate patterns of ivory. A stag, standing proud with a singular eye gleaming in gold. It fit right in. 

Harry marveled at the artwork of the walls awhile longer, not caring to hide his awe as they walked through the long hallways and spiraling staircases. 

Something warm fluttered inside him at the sight. For some peculiar reason, the red and golden colors reminded him of home. 

Absorbed in his staring, Harry nearly crashed straight into Lily as the witch came to an abrupt stop. She sent him an apologetic glance as he stumbled to catch himself, and Harry willed down the blush beginning to erupt on his face. _Again._

Of course, Marlene only snorted at his predicament.

Harry opened his mouth to defend his honor, when a muffled noise came from the room adjacent to them.

“— should be here any minute now.” 

The voice most definitely belonged to James Potter.

Which meant…some of the Order members were in that room. 

“Ready?” Lily asked, hand on the door knob. Harry nodded, his palms suddenly sweaty. 

He had a distinct feeling he never liked meeting new people. But the door was already opening, and Harry just _knew_ he’d find answers on the other side. He had to go in. 

“There they are!” James declared, as Lily pushed the door wide open. “Hi again.” 

James was standing right in front of the door, beaming at them as Lily walked straight inside and greeted him. Harry, following Lily’s lead, took a few steps into the room.

And stopped. 

There was someone with a casual arm slung over James’ shoulder, his handsome, chiseled face achingly familiar. It was like meeting Lily and James all over again, except the pull on his mind was somehow stronger. Somehow _worse._

Harry couldn’t help but stumble forwards, eyes wide, mouth half-formed in a greeting suddenly turning into a whisper. 

“Sirius…”

“Yeah, that’s me,” the boy said cautiously, grey eyes boring into him in startled bewilderment. 

“You’ve met?” James asked, but Harry barely registered the question.

Because —

_The man’s long, black hair was untidy and matted, his grey robes equally ragged. He was grinning, but there was a slight strain to the smile; as though he was trying to stay strong for another’s sake._

_He was unbearably thin, made more evident by the way he gnawed on a chicken bone, practically devouring the drumstick like a starving animal._

_“...I’m pretending to be a lovable stray.”_

_Despite the ease in which the words were said, there was a tension behind them. The man was putting up a front, but the illusion of strength was crumbling._

“What’s wrong with him?” Harry heard someone shout, but he couldn’t focus on it because the scene had shifted —

_A tapestry, faded yet glinting brightly from the golden thread embroidered within the large tree of portraits._

— again —

_“Then you should have died! Died rather than betray your friends, as we would have done for you!”_

— and again.

_The man ducked under a jet of red light, laughing. Taunting. But then the second jet of light hit him squarely in the chest._

_He was still laughing._

A hand gripped his shoulder, shaking him back and forth.

“Breathe,” someone said distantly, “inhale…exhale…”

Following the words, Harry greedily sucked in air between heaving breaths. Marlene’s face slowly came into focus, her eyes alight with concern (and curiosity, as always). 

“There you go,” she said, patting him reassuringly. “Another memory?”

“Yeah,” Harry conceded, but said nothing more. He didn’t need to; they were both thinking the same thing.

He’d recognized someone. 

And said person hadn’t recognized him back, by the looks of it. _Sirius_ was staring at him in a mixture of alarm and fascination, not moving an inch from where he’d been standing. 

Harry ignored the grief welling up in his throat, and pushed down the torrent of memories threatening to break loose as he looked at Sirius directly. 

It stung a little, that Sirius hadn’t come to his side— as childish as that sounded. Because by the looks of it, Harry was a complete stranger to him. 

But how could Harry have memories of Sirius, when Sirius himself had no clue who Harry even was? And while Harry wasn't completely sure of what he’d seen, as rapid as the flashbacks were, it almost looked like…

Well, Sirius had looked _much_ older. 

“Harry, you alright there?”

“Yeah, m’fine,” he responded, rubbing his eyes as the last remnants of the memories subsided for good. “I just- needed a moment. I’m okay now.”

“What was that all about?” someone said, and with a jump of his heart, Harry recognized Sirius’ voice… even though it sounded so _young_ compared to the one he had heard just minutes ago. 

“Sirius,” James muttered, shooting him a look. Sirius raised his eyebrow at that, his grey eyes sharp as he responded to James in a low voice — too quiet for Harry to pick up on. But from James’ glare, he wasn’t sure it was all that good. 

“Do you think you're up for the meeting?” Lily asked him softly, rubbing his back.

He knew Lily meant well, but Harry couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed; he was only a year younger than Lily, after all. She wasn’t his mother. 

Pushing his humiliation aside, he gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “I’m alright now. Sorry about, um, earlier. But it’s okay now.”

“Okay,” Lily said, “but you can step out whenever you want, even if it’s just to take a break or get away from-, well.”

Lily paused, only for a second. But it was just long enough for Sirius to interrupt. 

“Away from me?” 

A beat passed. No one spoke. 

Sirius opened his mouth again, but James grabbed his forearm and shook his head. “Hey, Harry, if you're okay with it, then let's go ahead and introduce you to everyone. Maybe the two of you can, uh, work things out a little later?"

“Yeah, sure,” Harry agreed, looking down at the ground to avoid eye-contact with Sirius. 

“Don't mind him,” Lily said, coming around next to Marlene. “Remus, if you could bring him a glass of water or something —”

 _Oh please no,_ Harry thought desperately. _Not again._

Except his mind was already battling another whirlwind of memories, fighting to stay lucid. 

“Lily,” he started, voice strangled. The girl whipped around, beginning to ask what was wrong, but it was too late. 

At the sight of the scarred face standing behind her, eyes so warm and too familiar, Harry lost himself to the swarm of echoes. 

_The man was sitting fast-asleep next to the window, his worn robes patched up in several places. His light brown hair was peppered with grey hairs, his otherwise youthful face looking ill and exhausted._

_The illusion of a mild, meek professor evaporated when a hulking figure emerged from the compartment door, the man standing bravely in front of the towering creature._

_His face was illuminated by the shivering flames bursting from his wand, and though he looked as tired and grey as before, his eyes were alert and wary._

_And then there was a sudden rattling noise, the creature from underneath the cloak sucking in all his happiness…leaving him so, so cold…_

“Harry!”

_The cold receded. In its place: chocolate._

_“Eat it. It’ll help.”_

The scene shifted. 

_“...I’m impressed…what you fear most of all is — fear.”_

“Merlin, his magic…”

“Someone _tie him down!_ ” 

Over and over, images of lost memories whirled through his mind. He couldn’t pull himself out. He was drowning in them.

_“...I hope he will understand. I was trying to make a world in which he could live a happier life.”_

“Shit, he’s out of control —”

_The clouds shifted. Moonlight streamed into the area, bathing them in soft light. It would have been beautiful, if not for the terrible snarling noise coming from right beside him. People were screaming, shouting, trying to run away…_

Harry opened his eyes. His glasses were gone, but he could make out a number of faces surrounding him, arguing with each other until someone finally noticed he had woken up. 

There was a blur of red he’d come to recognize as Lily on one side of him, and behind her was most likely James. On his other side was… 

_Tall, jet-black hair just like his own. His dark eyes were smoldering, staring at him in rapt fascination and_ hunger _. Curiously, his form appeared wispy and mist-like, almost as if he wasn’t quite there…_

The memory faded away before he could examine it any longer, only lasting a second. But it was enough. 

Unlike Sirius and Remus, this boy was a little older than the one of his flashback. A young man now, boyish features filling out into something slightly more mature. His gaunt cheekbones were even sharper, jawline slimmer from losing all the fat in his face. His hair was longer too.

Ignoring the odd unease thrumming beneath his skin, Harry let his eyes travel up to meet the other’s, telling himself that he _knew_ this person, he was safe —

Except when Harry met the same dark eyes of his memories, an altogether different vision seized his mind. 

_Crimson eyes, slit pupils gleaming brightly through the darkness._

“Harry?”

_He was skeletally thin, skin whiter than bone, livid scarlet eyes staring down at him in unadulterated fury._

_He laughed a high, cold, mirthless laugh._

“He’s not responding again —”

Harry _screamed._

* * *

Unconsciousness, Harry found, was rather pleasant. 

There were no people to meet, to manipulate, to betray. There were no lords giving him abhorrent missions and hideous brands on his forearm. There were no montages of his past flashing through his mind like a broken record. 

He wished he could stay here forever; the serene expanse of space he’d instantly recognized upon waking. 

It was the void again. The calming, ebb and flow of nothingness Harry had come to realize was his mindscape. 

It was strange that he never seemed to come to this place unless legilimized or losing consciousness. 

Because he'd passed out, hadn't he?

Harry could vaguely feel a resemblance of fear, anger, and panic from earlier. But the flood of soothing _nothing_ seemed to wash it all away, until it felt like all his emotions were underwater. Everything was muted, his feelings muffled. It was nice. 

It was nice, until it suddenly wasn't. 

He'd forgotten about it, truth be told. Forgotten about what had happened last time, when Marlene had legilimized him and he'd fallen back into this void. 

That last time he came here, it had all vanished in a torrent of darkness. 

The lull of the void had been eaten away, leaving rot and decay in its path. The shadows were all-consuming…

And it was happening again. 

Harry tried to scream, but nothing came out; just like before, his vocal cords strained to be set free to no avail. 

Nothing came out. _Nothing_ no longer had a place in this wretched darkness. 

His throat raw, his limbs frozen, Harry tried with all his force to wake his mind and escape the presence descending on him. 

It wasn't enough. 

There, in the corner of his vision, was a shrouding figure of pure, disgusting dark. It was prowling again. 

Dressed in a cloak of obsidian, the hooded being glided around him, coming no closer yet never straying too far. 

_What was it?_

Harry's first guess was a dementor, but a faraway memory told him that the cold emanating from this creature was not the same. 

Whereas a dementor's chill was bitingly frigid, these tendrils of frost seemed to curl around his very bones, bypassing the flesh of his skin entirely. Harry's breath didn’t come out in puffs of white mist. His body wasn’t trembling from the freezing cold. 

It was fear. 

The ice in his veins were from fear. 

_“Master,”_ the grotesque voice said. A horrid, grating noise.

The voice of no gender, no pitch yet all pitches at once, indistinguishable yet sounding of every being to have ever had a voice. It was the voice of not one person, yet several. Belonging to many, yet nobody. 

_“Master,”_ the croon came again, and with nauseating clarity, Harry realized that it was slowly, slowly coming closer to him. 

He opened his mouth again, wanting to scream, shout, even beg — but once again, his throat was collared by an invisible force. 

He was trapped.

_Who are you? What are you? Why are you here? What do you want from me?_

And despite not a single sound escaping his mouth, the creature seemed to pause in his hunt, stopping at the corner of his eye once more. 

Never straying too far into his line of sight. 

_“What am I?”_ the being said. 

There was a gust of wind. Or, Harry assumed so, as goosebumps rose on every inch of his skin.

 _“What am I…”_ It repeated, seeming to almost question itself.

No, not question itself. It was pondering the question. It found the question _amusing,_ Harry realized in horror, as the being resumed its crawling. 

The seemingly untouchable, inhuman creature had spoken back. Had spoken out loud, in response to his thoughts.

If he could have, Harry was sure his throat would have been raw from screaming by now. 

In his state of panic, it took him a moment to realize the hooded figure had escaped his field of vision. Where it had always been hovering just out of sight, he suddenly could not find it. 

_Where did it go?_

To see it lurk just outside his periphery, a constant reminder that it was watching, was terrifying. But not knowing where it was? That was downright _paralyzing._

There was no need for the strange force keeping his body frozen. The sheer terror coiling around him was enough to petrify his every cell.

And then —

_“What am I?”_

The voice had come from right behind him. 

Every nerve on his body was set ablaze, the ice in his veins melting to liquid fire. Though he could not see the creature, he could _feel_ the way it was creeping closer, closer, _closer_ — 

_“What are_ you _?”_

… 

His eyes flew open, breaths coming hard and fast. 

For a second, all he could see was complete, utter _darkness._ But when he blinked again, the illusion was gone.

Harry bolted upright, clutching his heart as it seemed to burst out of his chest in sheer adrenaline. His hands shook where they clung to his shirt, fingers stiff. He gently pried them off, working out the numbed limbs in great effort. 

There was an unusual stiffness to his arms. Harry frowned as he flexed them above his head to stretch them out, though it didn’t seem to do much. 

He belatedly noticed he was in an unfamiliar bed, the covers red and trimmed in gold. The mahogany wooding was pristine, unlike the creaking bed frame in his rented room at the Leaky. It was only then that he remembered he was in Potter Manor. 

Had he fallen asleep here? 

Harry took a look around the room, trying to rack his brain as to what had happened the night before. 

Why had he thought he’d seen _darkness_ just a moment ago? It was clearly morning — soft, sunshine rays were streaming into the room, leaving behind an ethereal shimmer in the red and gold of the walls.

Harry exhaled a long, drawn-out breath, his heart slowly coming down from its unusual spike. His cold sweat clung to his skin stickily.

Must have been his imagination.

Patting the bedside table, he found his wand first, the stick smooth except for...since when did his wand have knobs? 

Harry frowned, his earlier trepidation mounting once more.

Grasping for the wiry frames of his glasses, Harry hurriedly slipped them on, fumbling as they knocked against his face. Once he could see clearly again, he looked back down at his hand.

It was his own wand. Smooth, holly and phoenix. Nothing out of the ordinary. No knobs that were textured and ridged. 

Had he hallucinated it?

Something about the thought struck him as odd, and Harry grasped his wand tighter. 

Hallucinating…hallucinating…had he not just hallucinated this room shrouded in dark? The inky black all-encompassing…

 _...because instead of the nothingness of the void, there had been shadows_ _—_ _a world of dark…_

 _“What are_ you _?”_

Harry suddenly clutched his head, ears ringing. He could remember now, could recall the striking fear and dread and horror. The hooded creature that had spoken to him, mirth coloring its inhuman voice as it questioned his existence. 

The phantom whisper echoing in his ear, reverberating around and around him as he was pulled into consciousness. 

But the memory was already slipping away from him, despite how hard he tried to grasp onto it. 

"No!" Harry cried out, the high-pitched noise growing louder and louder _and louder_ —

What had he just been thinking about?

Harry looked up from where his head had been buried in his hands, the remnants of the ringing muddling his thoughts. His headache was rapidly subsiding, and though it seemed wrong, he shrugged off the uncomfortable feeling. 

Perhaps it was just another dream.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! it's been awhile i know, i hit a bit of a slump writing this chapter but all of your lovely comments really pushed me through it!!! so thank you to everyone who left a review so far, and an especially huge thank you to [PaperWorlds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperWorlds)  
> (seriously, the last scene would not have happened without you)
> 
> without further ado, here’s an extra long chapter with some long-awaited tomarry action ;)

The sun wasn’t quite at its peak yet. 

Golden rays were scattered across the treetops, the warm hues of amber slowly bleeding into the sapphire sky. Droplets of water glimmered on the glass windowpane. 

It was beautiful. 

As light trickled into the room, the inexplicable fear Harry had felt since waking gradually thawed away. It hadn’t completely left, no, but was certainly dampened by now; a low simmer compared to the overflow that had poured out of him uncontrollably. 

He’d sat like that for an hour or so, just looking out the window, rolling his wand between his finger pads from time to time. 

The wood was warm in his palm. He didn’t really know _why_ he felt the need to feel it against his skin, but something about the smooth holly tamed the tangle of emotions warring inside of him.

He had so many thoughts, jumbling in his head, fighting for dominance — 

_Remus and Sirius. Older in memories. Why? Were they hallucinations after all? And who was the other boy? Was he real? Was that pale, pale creature - no. No, don’t think about that. Think about- Grindelwald. Report in three days. What to say, what to hide,_ how _to hide —_

Harry clenched his wand again. Breathed in, and out. Warmth seeped into his flesh, flooding him in buoyant light. Grounding him. 

_That’s right. There’s still three days before the next letter has to reach Grindelwald._

And while Harry hadn’t exactly thought about what he would divulge and what he would hide from the lord… 

_The best lies are made of half-truths._

Grindelwald could do with a taste of his own medicine.

Even sweeter was the ‘occlumency barrier’ that supposedly existed around his mind now — which meant Grindelwald would no longer be able to legilimize him and read his thoughts, at the very least. 

Besides, the only reason he was caught the first time around was because Harry had to visit the registration office, which was entirely under Grindelwald’s control. But the Order was undoubtedly free of the lord’s influence. And it wouldn’t be unusual for Harry to stay at Potter Manor for extended periods of time, in case the man truly was tracking his movements. 

He would be fine. He could do this. He wouldn’t endanger anyone he cared about, he’d make sure of that. 

Although…what if the tattoo did something else? What if it wasn’t tracking his location, but was rather eavesdropping on his conversations?

_Was that even possible?_

“No way,” Harry said out loud, shaking his head. 

He’d definitely be killed by now if Grindelwald could listen in on his conversations. Not only had Harry failed to mention to the lord about the flashbacks he'd been getting, but he had also vehemently agreed with the Order’s goals as Lily and James had laid them out. 

Had Grindelwald eavesdropped on that particular conversation, Harry would certainly be six feet under by now.

Harry looked down at where his hands cradled his wand, his fingers shaking slightly. He squeezed the wood again, craving that soothing flush of light.

He exhaled.

Daylight had finally crept past the covers, its radiance illuminating the lines of forgotten scars mapped on his skin. 

Harry uncurled his fingers slowly, joints stiff and aching. But like the thoughts inside his head, they slowly warmed under the guidance of the morning rays.

The sun really was beautiful. 

* * *

“Harry?”

James poked his head through the door, a grin creeping up on his face when he noticed Harry was awake. 

“Everything okay?” his cousin asked, coming around to sit beside him on the bed. 

Harry paused, trying to gauge whether or not James was searching for an explanation about last night. 

But the boy’s smile was as carefree as always.

“Yeah,” Harry said, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat. James gave him a considering look, but said nothing. Instead, he reached over and ruffled Harry’s hair, mussing up his already sleep-tousled locks and ignoring Harry’s mortified exclamation. 

Harry glared at him past his now even more unruly strands of hair, but James only chuckled at the sight.

(It felt nice. It felt really, really nice.)

“Lily’s bringing breakfast,” James told him after his laughter died down. “So I have to take this chance to tell you about the Marauders...”

James started rambling about some stories of his time at Hogwarts — most of which featured a ‘slimy Slytherin git’ whose ‘personality was as greasy as his hair’. _Snivellus_ rang a familiar bell in Harry’s head, but he didn’t think much of it. Instead, he basked in James’ idle chatter, soaking in the warmth of the other boy’s presence. 

His earlier trepidation seemed miles away, mood lifting by every second. Despite the nonchalant front James put up, Harry could tell the boy was making an effort to steer clear from talk of the Order and what happened last night. 

“And then he grabbed the potion and _dunked it-_ ,” James paused mid-sentence, his face brightening as he saw something over Harry’s shoulder. “Oh, hey there Lils!” 

Lily sighed from where she stood at the doorway, a reluctantly fond expression on her face. “I hope James hasn’t been too much of a bother, Harry. How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Harry said, “And er, he hasn’t been. A bother, I mean.” James sent a triumphant smirk in Lily’s way. “If anything, I’m the one- I’m just…I’m sorry.”

_About last night._

“Hey,” James said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “None of that was your fault.”

“You have a problem with apologizing too much,” Lily chided, striding into the room with a trail of plates and utensils wobbling behind her in the air. She set the plates down on a table in the middle of the room, and then scooted in on the other side of Harry on the bed. 

It was slightly crowded now. Not that Harry minded. 

“Honestly, you and James couldn’t be more different. I don’t think the word ‘sorry’ is even _in_ his vocabulary —” 

“Hey!” James whined, pouting. “Cold. You, my dearest, are so cold.”

“Who are we talking about?” Marlene’s blonde hair poked through the door. “Ah, let me guess. It’s Lily, isn’t it?”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Morning, Marlene. And ignore James, he’s being dramatic.”

“Me? Dramatic?” James sniffed. “Unheard of.”

“Mhmm, of course,” Marlene agreed placatingly, walking in to take a seat at the breakfast table. “Are you three eating, or continuing your…adorable snugglefest?”

James coughed. “Snugglefest?” he mouthed, aghast. Marlene gave him a pointed look, but continued to pile food onto her plate nonetheless. 

“Really Marlene,” Lily said, leisurely making her way to the table, “it’s impolite to come in uninvited.”

“Oh, pish posh. I’m practically family, aren’t I?” the mind healer said, raising a brow. 

“Unfortunately.”

As the two witches bickered with each other, Harry couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander to yesterday morning, where he’d had breakfast with James and Lily before it was interrupted by Rosier. 

Merlin, that was only a _day_ ago. 

Only 24 hours ago, Harry had no clue that a resistance against Grindelwald even existed. He didn't know about Lily's status in the Wizarding World, about the Muggle Sectors that isolated the non-magical community, about the rigid rules in place to keep it that way. 

So much had happened between then and now: talk of the Order, his appointment with Marlene, going to Potter Manor, meeting Remus and Sirius and that boy and _did that really happen? Did he really —_

“Harry, darling, grab me the sausages won’t you?” Marlene asked, lounging against the chair with a cup of steaming coffee in her hand. 

Harry jolted in his seat at the sound of his name, looking up from where he was intently staring at his scrambled eggs. He glanced back down just as quickly, however, at Marlene’s knowing gaze. “Oh, er, of course.”

He hardly heard Lily scolding Marlene for her lack of manners _(“you have a_ wand _, Marlene”)_ and passed the plate absentmindedly. 

Marlene accepted it with a sharp grin. “I’m lazy. Besides, human interaction is important for the health of the mind, didn’t you know?”

“Your definition and my definition of human interaction might be a little different,” Lily muttered. James made a noise of agreement, nodding vigorously with his mouth full of food. 

“Speaking of my type of interaction,” Marlene said, turning to fully face Harry, “how are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Harry said. “Just a little tired, I guess.”

Marlene hummed lightly, but continued to study him unwaveringly. There was a pause as Harry debated whether or not he wanted to ruin a perfectly nice breakfast morning. 

“Last night,” Harry began quietly, trying not to wince at the sudden stillness at the table. Everyone was holding their breaths, waiting for an explanation for his behavior. 

The only problem was…there _was_ no explanation. 

“I- I know it sounds unbelievable. And honestly, I’m not even sure myself if I’m imagining everything. But…but I know what I saw. Sirius and Remus…”

He couldn’t remember much from either of the visions; the memories were so abrupt and disorienting, he could barely decipher what was going on between each one. But he could vaguely remember the disarray of emotions he felt throughout them: a mixture of admiration, love, and comfort.

And also their faces. 

Yes, he could clearly remember their faces, older and lined with years, and the looks in their eyes were —

Haunted.

Harry swallowed. “It was clearly them. They were older, by decades. But I knew them. There’s no doubt about that. And it wasn’t in passing, either. They really, really knew me —” 

Harry cut himself off as his voice became strangled. He dared not to look up, to see the pitying expressions on their faces. Clenching his fists under the table, he whispered, “I knew them.”

“We believe you.”

Harry whipped his head up, eyes wide in disbelief. “Seriously?” he asked, bewildered at the sheer conviction in James’ words. A quick glance at Lily and Marlene proved that they too were just as convinced. 

“Naturally, the Order had to discuss what had happened, considering only a handful of members were actually present at the time,” Marlene said. “They all knew you have magical amnesia, of course, but the situation changed once you recognized some of the members. And then, most peculiar of all, none of them recognized you back.” 

“None of them,” Harry repeated hollowly. His stomach sank. He knew that was the case, but hearing it out loud was entirely different. “What’s wrong with me?”

“I don’t know,” Marlene said carefully, “but we have a theory.”

Harry straightened up. “A theory?”

“After you were…out of commission, the rest of the group was understandably a little shaken up. I mean really, who knew there could be _that_ much magic packed in your scrawny little bod—”

Lily coughed, shooting Marlene a glare. “What she _means_ by that is most of the Order only knew about you being amnesiac, not that you had visions of your past. In fact, the only people who know about that are sitting here in this room. We didn’t think the information was prudent, until last night, that is.”

“I- but it doesn’t change anything, does it? I mean, the fact that I had flashbacks of people who have no memory of meeting me only proves one thing. That I’m a —”

_Freak._

The word crawled out from the very back of his mind, slipping through the cracks of the barrier between himself and his past. Why the insult evoked such an ugly, ugly emotion, Harry couldn’t tell.

But he could find out. So easily. The memory was right there, really, he could already hear the laughter, the taunts. _Y_ _ou're a_ — 

“Seer.”

Harry blinked. “Sorry?” he asked, staring at Marlene uncomprehendingly. 

“You’re a Seer, Harry.” 

Harry, after determining that this wasn’t some obscure dream, uttered a very eloquent: “I’m a what?”

“A seer- no, don’t give me that look, just — think about it! I’m not saying that the episode you had last night was a vision of the future, but it might have been a flashback of _your past self having a vision._ Do you follow?”

“No,” Harry said very clearly. “No, I don’t. How does that even —?”

“I know it might not _feel_ like you’re a Seer, but the dark ritual performed on you to block your memories may have also blocked your prophetic abilities. _That’s_ why you lost control last night — because your mind was overloaded by visions of the future, which are already overwhelming enough to experience one at a time. And what else would explain Remus and Sirius being decades older? It must have been memories of them that your past self Saw!”

“But that other boy, the one I saw before… he was _younger_ in the memory I saw.”

Marlene deflated. “Well, I’m no expert on Seers but there must be some sort of explanation…” 

“Visions can be of someone else’s past, too,” Lily piped up. “James, remember that Ravenclaw girl in our year? Sybill?”

“Er-,” James said, scratching his chin. “Sybill… Ravenclaw…in our year? Oh! You mean Barmy Trelawney —”

“ _J_ _ames._ ” 

“Right, um, yes, I remember Trelawney. She’s a Seer, isn’t she?” 

“Oh, I’ve heard of her. Or, her great-great-grandmother at least. Cassandra Trelawney. Supposedly possessed the Second Sight,” Marlene said dubiously.

“I wasn’t entirely convinced Sybill was all that accurate with her predictions, but she was definitely _enthusiastic_ about divinations and didn’t fail to talk about it whenever she had the chance,” Lily informed them. “Anyways, I remember her saying some Seers can have visions of other people’s lives, whether it be their past, present, or future.” 

“So then…some of my flashbacks might have been Seer visions?” Harry couldn’t tell if he was about to laugh uncontrollably or throw himself out the nearest window. Maybe both.

“Possibly,” Marlene admitted. “It’s going to be difficult differentiating between the two, but maybe that’s something we can work out another time.”

Harry nodded mechanically.

“...At least you won’t be bothered with actual Seer visions anymore?” James offered consolingly. 

“Yeah,” he laughed, a little on the hysterical side. 

A Seer. 

Just when Harry thought things couldn’t get messier. Though, at least here was a theory that actually fit for once, despite the incredulity of it all.

For one, the conflicting memories he had of Diagon Alley — at the time, the only explanation he could come up with was that he was imagining everything. But if he truly was a Seer… then it made sense, didn’t it? The timeframe didn’t add up because he was having visions of the past and the future _at the same time._

And… he hated to admit it, but there really was no other explanation for his memories of Remus and Sirius. 

Merlin, what did it say about him if being a Seer actually made things plausible?

_But did it really?_

Harry frowned. There was something that still didn't seem quite right. It was just a gut feeling, just an instinctive feeling of _wrongness_ despite how desperately he wished to ignore it. And also... 

He spotted Marlene in the corner of his eye, her cheerful expression wavering for a second to show a sliver of uncertainty. Clearly, he wasn't the only one having doubts. 

“For the sake of my sanity,” Harry said, pulling himself from his thoughts, “we’ll just go with that.” 

“Excellent!” Marlene exclaimed. “In the meantime, everyone else in the Order is most, ah, _anxious_ to meet you.”

“But,” Lily said quickly, seeing the look on Harry’s face, “they’re only allowed to come in one at a time to introduce themselves. That way you don’t overwhelm your amnesia and trigger another episode.”

“Okay,” Harry conceded, “I can do that.”

Even after the complete catastrophe that was yesterday. 

Harry groaned as he remembered that he’d flat-out fainted last night, slamming his forehead against the table. 

“I can’t believe I passed out in front of everyone,” he explained when the other occupants in the room exchanged worried glances. 

“Hey, it’s fine —”

“Oh jeez, what do they all think of me now? That I’ve gone mental?”

“Of course not,” Lily said at the same time James and Marlene said, “A little.”

Harry groaned again.

* * *

Marlene was to bring each member of the Order one by one to his room, giving Harry and whoever he was meeting five minutes alone. He almost wanted to ask the mind healer to stay in the room with him, but at the same time, he was glad she was willing to give him some privacy.

For Marlene, he saw this as a _very_ generous offer. The witch was rather…eccentric about her mind studies, and surely wouldn’t have wanted to miss out on anything related to Harry’s predicament. 

Especially now that he, apparently, had flashbacks of his Seer visions from the past. 

What a mess. 

At least his meeting with Remus Lupin was going well so far. He’d needed a moment at the very beginning, centering himself when a tide of memories welled up at the sight of the young man. 

Remus had waited patiently for Harry to regain his senses, his expression gentle and kind. Harry instantly took a liking to his calm demeanor, the air of composure mixed with his timidness having a rather stabilizing effect on Harry’s mind. Ironic, considering the intimidating scars across the young wizard’s face. 

“Is there anything I can do to help? To alleviate your condition?” 

“Oh, er, no it’s alright. I mean, I appreciate it and all, but it’s not your fault that —” 

“Harry,” Remus said, cutting him off. “It’s not your fault either.”

_But it is,_ Harry wanted to say.

It was his fault he’d gotten caught up in some dark ritual, that he’d let Grindelwald find his weakness, that he got cornered into spying on his cousin. 

_But Grindelwald will never find out about the Order,_ Harry told himself firmly. 

After that, Remus steered the conversation away from Harry’s amnesia, and he couldn’t help but feel grateful to the young wizard. If it were him in Remus’ place, he’d probably be itching to know what his future held in store for him. 

As Remus talked about how he came to join the Order — to prevent the deaths of those that defied the laws, as his parents had done — Harry tried not to let his eyes linger on the scars on Remus’ face, or the bracelet he wore. Like Lily’s, the chain metal was small and rather inconspicuous. Unlike Lily’s though, it was gold in color, the metallic glint stark against the man’s pale, waxy skin. 

Harry wondered what that difference could mean. 

Before he could think too hard on the matter, the door creaked open. “Five minutes are up, boys,” Marlene announced, her wand conjuring some parchment and quill. “Next up is Alice Longbottom.”

Much of the rest of the day would continue the same way, and by the end of the first hour, Harry was exhausted. The continuous stream of people he had to make polite conversation with became draining, no matter how short each conversation was. It didn't help that his mind had tried to push waves of foreign feelings and fragments of memories into his head with each new face. 

It also didn’t help how tense everyone seemed, as though expecting him to fall unconscious at any moment. Harry couldn’t really say he blamed them, though. He couldn’t trust his own mind anymore either. 

And then a witch named Minerva McGonagall walked in. 

Harry almost swore at the violent lurch his mind gave at the sight of the woman — though for some inane reason, his instincts also protested at the idea of swearing in front of this stern-looking witch. 

In retrospect, he was very glad he did not. 

“Mister Potter,” the witch started, looking down at him past her glasses. “My name is Minerva McGonagall, leader of the Order of the Phoenix. Please, take a seat.”

Harry had never sat faster in his life.

“I hope, despite the unusual circumstances, that you will find yourself well accommodated here,” McGonagall said, observing at him over her glasses. 

“Thank you,” Harry replied, bowing his head slightly. This woman had a frightening amount of authority packed in her words. 

However, Harry found that after a few minutes, the tension he felt died down a little. It became a lot easier to talk to the witch after seeing firsthand how passionate she was about the cause. 

Despite her serious expression, he could tell she had a kind heart. The way she talked about the Order with such pride and warmth made that evident. 

“There are about 30 or so active members with their own network of people who support the Order,” McGonagall explained. “Though the number may seem small, the connections each individual brings, including all of their skills and assets, are immeasurably wide and vast.”

“However,” she said, voice growing hard, “this is no light matter. There have been several deaths purely by association with the Order. I would like for you to truly think this over before formally joining our organization. Do not do this because of your familial connections, Mister Potter. I warn you now, because I do not wish to put you in danger without your full and knowing consent.”

“Because you _will_ face danger out there. I can guarantee that. You may have noticed how young many of the members you are meeting. This is not a coincidence; the work we do here has all but assured a shortened lifespan. It is a sacrifice many of us are living from day to day.”

“Think it over,” McGonagall looked at him directly, “carefully, and wisely.”

With that, the witch left with a flourish of her robes.

“She’s a tough one,” Marlene said as she opened the door to check in on him. “Tough, but fair.”

Harry had to agree with that assessment. 

"Who's next?" he asked, sitting back in his seat and stretching out his legs.

"We're taking another break," Marlene called from over her shoulder. "You look like you need it, anyways." 

Harry nodded, too tired to argue with the witch. Though five minutes was a short amount of time, there were also frequent breaks between each member. With a good handful of the Order being tracked through their identification bracelets, there was a great hassle to ensure none of them crossed paths. 

There were also some people who liked to chatter on for far too long, and Harry internally agonized when Amos Diggory kept monologuing about his young toddler, Cedric.

Thankfully, Marlene had intervened and persuaded the man to leave by casually enquiring about Cedric’s recent participation award he had received for Little League Quidditch. 

Unfortunately, Diggory wasn’t the only one Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable talking to. 

He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly made him feel the way he did around Peter Pettigrew. The wizard appeared friendly enough, if a little…plain. 

Introduced as James and Sirius’ friend, Harry guessed he was a little _underwhelmed_ by Pettigrew’s presence in comparison. 

But it was not the boy’s unremarkable features that made Harry uneasy. No, there was something inside of him that was protesting at the mere sight of Peter Pettigrew. 

As though revolted by him…and yet, there was something else… 

_Pity?_

It was a strange myriad of emotions that Harry decidedly did not want to decipher.

He was relieved to find that the rest of the members were much more bearable than Diggory and Pettigrew. Though most weren’t exactly _exciting_ to talk to, some of them made Harry feel much more welcomed than others. Like Molly and Arthur Weasely. 

Along with the customary pull of memories that tried to claw its way into his mind, there were also feelings of warmth and comfort that he most definitely did _not_ have with Pettigrew. The Weaseleys were an easygoing couple, and Harry found himself instinctively trusting them. 

All in all, he decided that he rather liked most of the people here. McGonagall’s words resounded in his head, and he knew he should think on the matter as she suggested, but Harry had a feeling his mind was already made up. 

He wanted to be a part of the Order. He wanted to help.

* * *

“Right, Harry, we’re on the last one now.”

Harry tried to hold in a sigh of relief, but by the look Marlene sent his way, he wasn’t sure he was all too successful. 

“Come on in then, Tom,” Marlene called out, leaving the door open. 

_Oh,_ Harry thought a little sadly. _Sirius didn’t come._

It didn’t matter. Sirius didn’t owe him anything. _This_ Sirius didn’t know him, didn’t care for him the way the Sirius of his memories — of his supposed _future_ — might have. 

The least Harry could do was respect that, and not make Sirius feel obligated to him in any way. If it were Harry in Sirius’ position, he could see why Sirius was so cautious around him anyways. Harry was a complete stranger. Even worse, he had reacted so… _emotionally_ to the wizard upon their first meeting, nonetheless. 

Harry sighed. Hopefully, with time, Sirius would come around and they could at least be cordial with one another. 

So engrossed in his thoughts about Sirius, Harry barely noticed the door closing shut. He did notice, however, when a tall figure approached him in slow, confident steps. It was the boy, the one he’d passed out after meeting eyes with. 

_Red eyes…_

He shoved _that_ particular memory away, along with a whole new rush of memories vying for his attention. But he’d be damned if he fainted again. Instead, he tried to focus on the handsome features of the wizard before him, and pushed the visions of the future far from his mind. 

As the loud whispers of his past mellowed, Harry finally gave his undivided attention to the young man in front of him. 

He really was handsome: perfectly coiffed hair, high cheekbones, russet-brown eyes almost black in the dim lighting of the room. Harry supposed he would normally find such dark eyes alluring. 

_But how could he, when all he could think of was crimson?_

Realizing he’d been staring for far longer than appropriate, Harry hastily cleared his throat. “Harry Potter,” he introduced, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“Tom Riddle,” the young man returned, all charm and charisma. And then, as if it were just an afterthought, he added: “Junior.” 

Riddle’s eyes flashed with — amusement? — for a second, as though recalling a private joke, before his expression settled back to polite interest. 

Harry sent a weak smile in Riddle’s direction as the young man took a seat. He hoped he didn’t look as tired as he felt, but when Riddle smiled back sympathetically, it was clear he hadn’t covered it up as well as he’d thought.

That, or Riddle was one perceptive wizard. 

_Stop it,_ Harry berated himself. _He hasn’t done anything._

But it was hard to look at Riddle and pretend he’d never seen that pale, slit-eyed monster. To pretend his gut didn't churn at the sight of the man, that there weren't warning bells ringing loud and clear. 

It was hard to pretend he didn't want to run far, far away.

Harry stiffened when Riddle made a slight movement, and tried not to flush when he realized the young man had merely crossed his legs. Riddle looked at him curiously for a moment, before a charming smile graced his lips. “I apologize for my hand in your situation last night, Harry, but I’m glad to see you’ve made a quick recovery. The Order is always in need of resilient youth such as yourself.”

The words were spoken so cordially. So pleasantly. A perfect inflection showing genuine pity and sympathy. 

With unsettling clarity, Harry instantly knew it was superficial.

“So you’ve always supported the cause?” Harry asked nonchalantly, betraying none of his growing discomfort. 

“Of course,” Riddle said earnestly. “As a halfblood yourself, you must understand the pain of witnessing such hate and prejudice against our own.” The young man held up his wrist, presenting a familiar silver bracelet. 

_A halfblood, huh?_

Harry felt a tug on his mind, as he had been frequently these past few hours, and steeled himself to push the memory down. 

But that look in Riddle’s eyes… 

Harry couldn’t help it. It was right there, the memory, pulling at his mind like an incessant, needy child. Teasing him with whispers of his past for hours and hours on end. And Harry, who had resisted for so long, who had refused the promise of answers all this time, couldn’t help but let himself think: _What’s one time?_

It was only a quick peek, afterall. Just a dip in the vast pool of memories… 

_Tom was standing, proud and tall, a wand twirling in his hand._

_With a smirk, the young wizard raised the stick into the air. Light sparked from the tip. In quick, sharp movements, he fluidly etched three words._

_“Tom Marvolo Riddle.”_

A sharp inhale snapped Harry out of the memory — it took him a moment to realize he had spoken the words he’d seen out loud. 

Riddle’s eyes had taken a shine to them, genuine curiosity peeking out. Quietly, he said, “that would be my father.”

“Liar.” 

Riddle’s expression went carefully blank. “Pardon?”

He didn’t know what made him say it. But as soon as the word, the _accusation_ slipped out, Harry knew he was irrevocably right. 

“I said, you’re a liar.”

Riddle cocked his head, assessing him. “I’m not certain I follow.”

“Tom Marvolo Riddle. He isn’t your father, is he?” Harry said, and _damnit,_ _why did he have to keep talking?_

“That name,” Riddle said slowly, “how do you know it?” 

Harry faltered. “I-,” 

A hand snatched out and grasped his chin, the touch oddly gentle despite the lightning speed it had whipped out in. Riddle chuckled lowly at Harry’s furious expression, his spidery long fingers caressing his cheek in mock tenderness. 

Harry tried to jerk his head out of the wizard’s grip, but froze as Riddle suddenly shortened the distance between them.

“Did you _See_ it, Seer?” Riddle hissed, the rush of cool air leaving a trail of goosebumps under the vulnerable skin of his ear. “You claim he isn’t my father. Then _who,_ pray tell, is Tom Marvolo Riddle?” 

Harry grinned despite the alarms blaring inside his head. “I think we both know the answer to that, _Junior._ ” 

Riddle leaned back a little, surprise evident as he observed him consideringly. His face was impassive, but his eyes told a different story. They were all but _burning._

“What did you see?” 

_Livid scarlet eyes. Bone-white skin. A high, cold, mirthless laugh._

Harry’s stomach lurched at the memory he so desperately tried to bury deep, deep down into the recesses of his mind. He never wanted to feel that sheer terror, horror, _disgust_ upon seeing those red, red eyes ever again. 

Was that skeletal, inhuman being really Tom Riddle, only, in the future — ?

Harry shuddered. _It couldn’t be true._

“I don’t remember,” Harry murmured, trying to ignore Riddle’s surprisingly firm hold on his chin. “The visions, they’re fragmented and half the time I don’t even —”

Riddle tsked, the noise small yet loud in its scorn. “Harry, Harry,” he chided. The hand cradling his jaw suddenly turned into claws, sharp nails digging into his skin. “Now _who’s_ the liar, hm?” 

“I’m doing this for your own good,” Harry snapped, anger flushing through him at the condescending tone. “Haven’t you heard, Riddle, that ignorance is bliss?”

Riddle narrowed his eyes. “Only the ignorant choose to remain ignorant.”

“Trust me,” Harry said slowly, “this is something you don’t want to know. Hell, this is something _I_ don’t want to know, let alone recount.” 

Something in that piercing gaze shifted. “Trust you?” Riddle questioned with dark amusement. “When you can’t even meet my eyes?” 

Guilt crawled in Harry’s stomach. “That’s not —”

“Perhaps,” Riddle interrupted, “it’s _your mind_ you cannot trust. You’re projecting your own fears, your own apprehension onto a more tangible target: me.” 

Harry stared at the man, his jaw slack in Riddle’s loose grip. He could have easily moved away. He _should_ have. 

But he didn’t. 

“Let me help you,” Riddle crooned. “Open your mind to me, Harry.” 

He knew what Riddle was suggesting. Legilimency wouldn’t work on him, but Harry’s voice was stuck in his chest, unable to work its way out. It didn’t matter though, would it? Riddle would find nothing — 

_Nothing._

And it all came crashing back to him: the void, his mindscape, that _darkness_ that awaited him, all of it. Of course it would happen now, right as Riddle was already speaking the incantation, and _he had to stop him_ — 

“Wait — _Don’t —_ !”

_“Legilimens.”_


	8. Chapter 8

“Damnit,” Harry hissed, his stomach sinking as the familiar feeling of _nothing_ settled around him. “Damnit!” 

He hadn’t been able to stop Riddle, then. He was back in his mindscape, the endless void that plagued him whenever he could recall it. 

Harry resisted the temptation of the lull, fighting to stay alert amidst the heady sensation. Under the surface, he could feel the underlying panic stirring inside of him, anticipating the inevitable. 

_It_ would appear again. Soon. 

Worse, was that Riddle was still with him in the present. Riddle, who would surely question him, just as Marlene had. The two of them shared that keen intelligence and inquisitive nature after all, and Marlene had only refrained from interrogating him about his occlumency barriers because of Lily. 

So who knew how Riddle would react? The man wouldn’t give up as easily. Harry had only just met the wizard, but he instinctively knew _something_ was off about him.

He couldn’t take that risk. “Wake up, wake up, wake up _please_ —”

And then something landed on his shoulder, light but firm. For a moment, Harry thought he was back in the present. That when he opened his eyes, he would be greeted by Riddle’s hand on his shoulder shaking him awake. 

Instead, he stared back at the same monotonous, eternal vacuum. Any and all sense of peace vanished in an instance as he realized, without a doubt, that he was still stuck in his mindscape. 

_Which meant the hand on his shoulder was…_

Harry whirled around with his heart in his throat, body rigid as he prepared to face the cloaked figure. 

“You!” Harry exclaimed, jaw hanging open. 

“Me,” Riddle said, perfectly calm, composed, and entirely too casual considering where they were. 

And oh, how he hated how his racing heart calmed at the sight of the wizard, relief that it wasn’t the hooded creature all too evident. He knew he should be pissed, or upset, or _something_ other than relieved about Riddle being here, but he couldn’t help it.

Judging Riddle’s curious look, he’d been a little too obvious about it. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Harry blurted out, waving his hands around a little hysterically. 

Riddle hummed. “I gathered.”

Riddle’s gaze, which had never left his face since he’d seen Harry, finally lifted to look around their surroundings. “This is your mindscape?” 

Harry nodded, swallowing as he, too, observed the void around them. It wasn’t a place that could be described visually; just a feeling of emptiness, a sense of vacancy. 

It was just that. Nothing. 

“It’s not what I expected,” Riddle admitted, looking back at him. “I’d thought you would have a little more…vibrancy.” 

“You don’t know me,” Harry said a little defensively. 

“No,” Riddle conceded. “I don’t.”

They stared at each other, testing one another, refusing to be the one to back down first. 

And then Harry remembered the danger that lurked within. “We need to leave.” 

Who knew how much longer they had? He couldn’t let himself get distracted by Riddle, not while knowing how precarious a situation they were in. 

Harry’s eyes darted around, waiting for the world to become stained with inky black _dark._

“Why so tense, Harry?” Riddle took a step forward, his eyes all but gleaming. “You’ve won. I cannot see a single memory of yours in here.”

“This isn’t a game, Riddle. My mindscape —,” Harry paused, unsure how to explain himself. “Look, just trust me on this.”

Riddle looked away from him. “Trust, hm?”

_“Trust you? When you can’t even meet my eyes?”_

Harry gritted his teeth, remembering the other’s words from before. “Yes,” he bit out, staring directly into those dark eyes. Riddle met him head on, recognizing the challenge easily. 

“Very well,” the man said coolly, the corner of his lips quirking up. “Let’s hear it then.”

Harry would have made a scathing retort, but as it was, he was too anxious to acknowledge Riddle’s goading. “We need to get out of here now. I don’t know if it’s some side effect of the amnesia or the ritual that caused it, but there’s something…unnatural about this place.” 

“Unsurprising. These clearly aren’t your mental shields. I hardly doubt you could keep me out with your own defenses,” Riddle said. 

Harry glared at him.

“But,” Riddle continued lightly, “you seemed surprised to see me. As though you hadn’t expected me to even get inside your mind in the first place. Why?”

Harry blinked. How _did_ Riddle get through his occlumency barriers, one that a professional mind healer had failed to break through? 

“Marlene hadn’t been able to,” Harry said eventually, biting his lips. “She told me I had mental barriers that prevented her from even getting in.” 

Riddle frowned. “I found no such resistance.”

“Really?” 

“ _Trust me,_ ” Riddle drawled, this time initiating the eye-contact. “You would know if I had.”

“This isn’t the time for a pissing contest, Riddle,” Harry said heatedly. “Seriously, we need to get out of here or —”

“Or what?” Riddle interrupted. “You’ve been rather on edge this entire time. I’d be offended by the lack of undivided attention, but…”

“But?”

“You’re hiding something,” Riddle said simply. Harry opened his mouth to deny it, but Riddle continued before he could. “Many things, I’d wager.”

“So are you,” Harry shot back. He then sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “Damnit, this is pointless. I’m trying to work with you and find us a way out, not egg each other on or _whatever_ it is you’re trying to do. Besides, you’re the one who performed the legilimency, can’t you just pull your subconscious out of here? Have you even tried? Even if you’re the only one that can leave, Marlene was able to wake me up before so… _what are you_ _smiling at?_ ” 

“Oh, Harry,” Riddle said, shaking his head patronizingly, “your lack of knowledge in the mind arts is truly appalling. Don’t you see?” 

Harry crossed his arms. “See what?” 

“ _You_ are the one keeping us trapped in here. Or…,” Riddle trailed off, looking somewhere beyond him. “Something in your mind is.” 

Every hair on the back of Harry’s neck rose at Riddle’s words, his eyes widening as he desperately looked around. 

There was nothing there. 

...Only _nothing._

Harry turned back to face Riddle, only to take a step back as he saw that the wizard was merely inches away from him. “Er-”

“What are you hiding?” Riddle murmured. “Don’t lie. I’ll know.”

 _Hypocrite,_ Harry thought snidely. _As though you didn’t try to lie and pose as your own son._

“There’s something that…that disturbs the void,” Harry finally said, voice soft. “But it always happens right before I awake.” 

“Something?”

“It’s a-,” Harry paused, making a quick decision. 

_Half-truths._

“A darkness. Sort of like a blackout.” 

“Side effect of your amnesia, you said?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “At least, that’s what I think.” 

Riddle’s gaze was intense. “And when does this usually happen?”

“I never really know how much time passes here.” Harry shifted awkwardly, trying to lean away from Riddle’s intense focus. “It… It feels late, though.”

Harry couldn’t help but tear his focus away from Riddle, quickly scanning their surroundings to see if anything had disrupted the peace. 

“You’re afraid.”

Harry’s attention snapped back to Riddle, frustration mounting at the older boy. “ _You_ would be too if you only knew —”

_He cannot see Death._

Harry’s heart froze at the sibilant whisper. He knew that abominable voice, that dissonant sound that could belong to no mere mortal. 

Harry whipped his head around, his hands coming to block his ears as the sentence echoed in his head, over and over again. 

_He cannot see Death._

His vision flashed dark — _oh god, it’s here, it’s here, it’s here —_ only to flicker back to the void, to Riddle, whose face was suddenly right in front of his. Riddle’s mouth was moving, shouting something, but his words were lost to the deafening cacophony in Harry’s head.

_He cannot see Death._

He could feel his body convulsing, his eyes twitching sporadically as he went back and forth between his mindscape and the dark. Between Riddle and that creature. 

The cloaked figure was nowhere to be seen, yet its very presence was all-consuming. Its soft and lilting words lovingly caressed him, the sickly-sweet noise infecting his every thought. 

_He cannot see Death._

“Potter!”

Riddle was grabbing onto his shoulders, shaking him, trying to get him to respond. But Harry could only hear that one sentence ringing in his head. 

_He cannot see Death._

_He cannot see Death._

_He cannot see Death._

… 

  
  


“Harry.”

Through the haze that was his muddled brain, Harry heard his name being called almost urgently. He slowly opened his eyes only to see Riddle’s face inches away from his own, the other wizard’s dark eyes searching his. 

“Too close,” Harry mumbled, his lips feeling numb as he tried to speak clearly. His joints felt weak, his skin freezing. When he tried to repeat himself, he could only taste ice on his tongue. 

Riddle ignored him, only leaning in closer. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Harry asked dumbly, blinking a couple times. Even his eyelids felt heavy. 

Riddle looked at him disbelievingly, as though he couldn’t quite grasp how unintelligent his conversation partner was. Harry wanted to laugh at the man’s expression, but the extra heave his lungs took felt bitingly cold. 

Something was wrong. 

“What happened?” he asked, his head a little clearer as desperation took over. “ _What happened?_ ” 

Riddle stiffened, intrigue written clearly on his face. “You don’t remember.” 

“No, I don’t,” Harry snapped, ignoring the chill in his chest as he exhaled. He was about to give Riddle a piece of his mind when he heard the door click open. 

“Boys?”

Neither Harry nor Riddle looked over at Marlene, refusing to break the eye-contact between them. 

Then, Riddle leaned back in his seat, his face changing ever so slightly. His eyes never left Harry’s as he said loudly, “It was wonderful meeting you, Harry.”

 _Two-faced bastard,_ Harry thought furiously.

“Er, are you both done here?” Marlene called out uncertainly, rooted to her spot by the door. “I mean, I can come back a little later since Tom’s the last one anyways-”

“No,” Harry said quickly, shooting Marlene a tense smile. “We’re done here.” 

When he turned back to Riddle, the older boy was smirking triumphantly — no doubt relishing in his ‘win’ in their staring competition. Harry was about to make a snide comment, when Riddle’s expression suddenly went slack. It was a subtle shift, and only lasted for a sliver of a second, but Harry caught it all the same. 

He frowned as Riddle stood up calmly, itching to know what had caused the wizard to make such a face. But Riddle ignored him in favor of dipping his head in Marlene’s direction. “I’ll see you two later.” 

And then he was gone. 

Harry sat in his chair, a hand on his chin as he stared at the spot where Riddle had vacated. 

_What had he seen?_

“Hi Harry, sorry about how long that took. Now that you’re all finished here, maybe- oh my god,” Marlene gasped mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she came into Harry’s view. 

“What?” Harry asked, bewildered. 

“You’re bleeding! Merlin, what happened?” Marlene took a step closer, her hand reaching out towards his forehead. Harry flinched away a little, his own hand coming up towards his forehead trying to shield it from her view. 

His fingers lightly touched wet skin, and he hissed when it prickled at the contact. Slowly, Harry brought his hand back down in front of him. His fingertips came away crimson. 

“What the hell?” he mouthed, unable to tear his gaze away from the scarlet color. When did that even happen?

“How did Tom not notice —? Nevermind, let’s get you cleaned up…” Marlene procured a wet cloth with a quick wave of her wand, handing it over to him wordlessly. He thanked her quietly, still unable to look away from the blood on his hands. 

Why did he feel like something significant just happened? 

“I-,” Harry started roughly, clearing his throat, “I’ll go wash it off.” 

“Okay,” Marlene said, peering at him in a mix of worry and wonder. “Okay, sure. I’ll just wait around here.” 

Harry nodded mutely, walking towards the bathroom mechanically. He didn’t know what to think. All he could see was the red bleeding into the white material of the cloth, stained by his own blood. 

For a moment, Harry just stood inside the bathroom, staring at the reddening cloth. His forehead felt searing hot, though not as painful as he would have thought considering the amount of blood streaming down his face. 

Snapping himself out of his state, Harry ran the cloth under the tap water, squeezing out pink water before rubbing it over his bloody face. He caught his reflection in the mirror, eyes wide and skin pale. 

“You look like a walking nightmare, dearie,” his reflection told him. 

“I feel like one too,” he muttered, shuddering as he remembered how numbingly cold his entire body felt. 

A few more runs of the cloth and his face was free of the bloody mess. His skin had turned back to a more healthier color, less bluish and pallid as it had moments ago. 

And yet, the jagged scar above his right eye was more visible than ever. 

He’d noticed the scar before of course. It was hard to miss with its peculiar, zigzag pattern that eerily resembled a lightning bolt. What was different this time, however, was how enflamed the scar had become. Instead of the thin, white line that was easily unnoticeable at first glance, the wound looked almost fresh. 

Harry prodded at the throbbing flesh gently, relieved to find that it had stopped bleeding. 

_But why was it bleeding at all?_

He turned away from the mirror, unnerved. He didn’t like this. He also didn’t like the sense of familiarity that came with seeing the reddened skin, and whatever the implications of that could be. 

Why couldn’t anything go smoothly for him for once?

All he wanted to do was go to sleep, and forget any of this happened. If his life was like this before the amnesia, maybe it was a good thing he’d lost all those memories. Ignorance really was bliss. 

Harry wrung the cloth one last time before banishing it — and all the blood — out of sight. Bracing himself, he left the bathroom to where Marlene was no doubt waiting impatiently. 

Sure enough, the witch was lounging in the seat Riddle had occupied before, flipping through a book leisurely. She looked up as he entered the room, honing in on his forehead instantly. “It looks fresh,” she informed him unhelpfully. 

Harry shrugged. “Whatever questions you have for me, I guarantee I can’t answer them.” 

“Well, as long as Tom didn’t curse you with some dark magic and cover it up with an Unbreakable Vow,” she said. Harry furrowed his brows at the comment, to which she tilted her head curiously. “That was a joke. Not that you’d be able to admit it if he _did,_ but —” 

“He doesn’t seem the sort to, um, do that,” Harry said, thinking back to his impression of Riddle. Their conversation hadn’t exactly gone well, especially at the end…but Harry had certainly antagonized him by calling him a liar right off the bat. It _was_ a little strange that Riddle was posing as his own son, but considering the regime they lived in, perhaps he had his own reasons. 

Besides, it seemed like Riddle had tried to help out when he used legilimency. Not that it worked, obviously. Just like with Marlene, Harry’s mental shields had kept him out and then… and then his scar happened. 

Marlene looked at him with both brows raised. “Tom Riddle? Merlin, could you imagine?” She laughed as though the very notion was hilarious to her. “Well, I suppose you only just met him.”

“He was perfectly fine. Sorry, it’s just been a rough day and this,” Harry pointed to his scar, “didn’t help things at all. I don’t know how it happened, but it might’ve been some sort of backlash with the memories…”

“Okay,” Marlene said doubtfully. “I’ll let the matter rest. In fact, I think I should let _you_ rest. We can talk later, mmk?” 

Harry smiled at her gratefully, settling down on the bed instead of the chair this time. “What time is it?”

“It’s half-past three. Go take a nap. I’ll tell James and Lily to wake you up for dinner.” 

“Thank you,” he told her earnestly. She smiled and left the room, shutting the door gently on her way out. 

Harry sighed as he flopped down on the bed, his joints still aching. Why every bone in his body felt so stiff, he couldn’t tell. Maybe he should take a hot bath first. 

He contemplated the idea for a second, before deciding that no, the bed was far too warm and comfortable to bother getting up from it. His eyelids were already drooping, his entire body following it with heaviness. 

He was almost content. 

But even as his breathing deepened and his body finally warmed, he couldn’t help but be painfully aware of the scar pulsating on his skin. 

* * *

When Harry woke up, it was to the sight of a silvery stag nuzzling his face. He sneezed as the cool mist of the patronus tickled his nose, shooting it a half-hearted glare as it dipped its head apologetically. 

“What?” Harry asked it, barely suppressing a wide yawn. 

“Hey Harry, Lils and I just got back from Diagon. We checked in on you but you were fast asleep, so we left some dinner down at the kitchen instead. Prongs here can guide you down there once you’re ready. Hope you had a nice nap!” James’ voice came from within the patronus _._

Harry smiled at Prongs, gently patting its wispy head. “Guess I’ll go eat,” he told it, grinning as the stag pranced around his bed excitedly. 

Harry winced when a memory tried to jump into his mind, pushing it down like second-nature. Honestly, they were becoming more of an annoyance than an actual problem now. 

_Hopefully._

Dismissing the rather morbid thought, Harry climbed out of his covers and followed Prongs as it trotted out the door. 

It was then that Harry realized it was well past evening. The hallways were unlit and dark, the manor’s portraits fast asleep. 

“Shit,” he muttered, “how long was I out?”

Apprehension suddenly crept into Harry’s thoughts, causing him to momentarily falter in his steps. Heartbeat loud in his chest, he stopped as he fixated on how pitch-black the shadowed halls appeared.

Since when did he have a fear of the dark? 

Pushing past his nerves, Harry forced himself to keep walking and caught up with the patronus waiting patiently for him at the end of the hallway. 

If he stuck too close to the illuminated form of the stag, nobody was there to call him out for it. 

They were at the kitchen soon enough, and Harry was relieved to find that the room was dimly lit with warm candles on the countertop. There were heaping plates of all sorts of food — and dessert, he was happy to find — all kept warm by some charms. 

Harry smiled as a paper note unfurled on the tabletop, the words ‘enjoy!’ glittering on the paper. 

But just as he got ready to dig in, he heard voices coming from the room next door. 

It was quiet, barely audible past the noise of nightfall. But as he strained his ears to catch the hushed whispers, it became glaringly obvious that whoever they were, they were talking about something important. Something that they didn’t want overheard.

“ — don’t trust him.” 

_Was that…was that Sirius?_

“He’s my cousin,” came the next muffled words, a hint of an edge in the tone, and oh, _they were talking about him._ “I’m not going to abandon him.” 

That was James. 

James and Sirius were talking about him, in the middle of the night.

Harry stilled as the realization dawned on him, licking his suddenly dry lips. He should walk away, pretend he never heard any of this.

Harry moved closer to the door.

“Cousin or not, he’s a complete stranger, Prongs. I mean, you picked him off the street and he claims he can’t remember shite. Doesn’t that seem even a little suspicious?” 

“He has amnesia, Sirius, that’s not his fault!” 

“ _Magical_ amnesia. Someone out there cursed him with _magical amnesia_. Why? Why was he targeted? And by who? Nothing adds up, James.” Harry heard a glass cup being slammed against the table, and tried not to flinch away from the sound. “ _I_ _know_ how dark that kind of magic is. The kid could’ve been screwing around in circles he shouldn’t have been, and now he’ll bring _that sort_ right into our midst.”

Harry shifted, his palms clammy against where they rested on the door. He should have left when he could. Before he’d overheard this. 

Because even if Sirius’ words stung… he was right. Taking advantage of James’ desire for family, Harry was leading Grindelwald straight to his doorstep.

Sirius was completely, painfully right. 

“He was the _victim_ of a dark spell, not the user of one. And we don’t know what he was up to before this, true, but how’s that fair on Harry to judge him when he can’t even remember his own past? You’re being unreasonable —”

“I’m being unreasonable? James, we’re at _war_ right now. They’re willing to use any advantage they can get over you. Did you even check him for a glamour? Polyjuice? What about weapons, or a potion?”

“You think Harry would try to —?”

“You saw him yesterday,” Sirius interrupted, voice lowering to a rasp. “You saw how much raw magic he has, how _destructive_ it was. Who knows what the kid’s been doing? Or if someone’s been keeping tabs on him just based on potential?” 

_What?_

Harry took a step away from the door, hands wrapping around himself as Sirius’ words registered to him. 

What was Sirius talking about? Raw, destructive magic? _Him?_

...Hadn’t he just lost consciousness that night?

“And don’t get me started on how easily you and Lily get along with him. It’s- it’s unnatural, how chummy you all are.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Sirius, now you just sound jealous. Is that it? Are you _jealous_ because I haven’t been hanging out with you or Peter as much?”

“I’m looking out for you, you egotistical _prick,_ ” Sirius snarled. Harry couldn’t see what was going on, but he could hear loud, ragged breaths even from the other side of the door.

“I appreciate your concern,” James’ voice came moments later, quieter and sounding more tired than ever before. “But I can protect myself, alright? And… and I want to give him a chance. ”

“That’s what’s going to get you killed! Why don’t you get it?” The sound of a chair scraping backwards was gratingly loud. “This isn’t Hogwarts. Our biggest worries aren’t just McGonagall giving us detention, it’s her getting _killed_ because of our stupid mistakes. It isn’t Snivellus getting us back on our last prank, it’s Severus Snape _ratting us out to Gellert fucking Grindelwald._ ”

A pause. And then Sirius started in a lower, softer voice, “Look, I know you’re hurting from losing your parents. And I know we can never replace family, but…but you have Lily, you have Peter, Marlene, everyone in the Order, _me_.” 

“Sirius…”

“And you know you’ll always have us, right?”

“I know, but-”

“I get it’s not completely fair to the kid, but you can’t trust anyone at a time like this —”

“You’re not listening —”

“We can help him find a place elsewhere and Marlene can —” 

“ _He’s not Regulus!_ ”

Silence.

Harry held his breath as the last word, _Regulus,_ seemed to echo into the dark room Harry was in. 

And then: “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“Sirius, wait —”

The door slammed open. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, i am so happy to announce that i have a beta now! the lovely, wonderful, fantastic, brilliant [**remaya**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/remaya) helped me out so SO much with this chapter and i am endlessly grateful for all her help <3
> 
> seriously rem, you're the best. and if anyone is looking for more tomarrymort (and now sirry!) content, be sure to check out her ao3!!!

Harry stumbled back as bright light flooded his view, the slam of the door reverberating in his ears. He was on the floor before a sound could leave his mouth, staring up at Sirius’ silhouette. 

_Shit, shit, shit —_

Harry scrambled to his feet, a thousand apologies on the tip of his tongue when suddenly, something grabbed him around the waist and hauled him out of the way. 

A hand clamped over his mouth before he could cry out. Harry tried to pry the hand off of him, scratching and clawing at his assailant to no avail. His throat was constricting painfully now, his airflow cut off.

_Sirius, look up!_

Sirius was standing at the doorway, his shoulders tensed and his eyes downcast. His hand was still on the doorknob, his whole body shaking ever so slightly. 

And then he looked up, staring straight into Harry’s eyes — blurred, tear-filled eyes that widened as Sirius stomped past him without a glance. 

It was only after Sirius was out of sight that Harry noticed the egg-yolk feeling on him: a disillusionment charm. 

He flailed with renewed vigor, limbs trying to throw off his attacker because even if he desperately didn’t want Sirius to know he was eavesdropping, he would much prefer that over being _abducted from right under his nose._

But Sirius was walking away, was already gone, leaving him behind. 

Harry’s fists clenched, rage flooding him inexplicably. Damn him if he’d just let himself get kidnapped without a fight. Harry bit the hand over his mouth and, at the same time, hooked his right leg behind him and yanked with all the strength he could muster. The wizard behind him let out a startled hiss of pain, letting go of him in surprise.

Without a moment of hesitation, Harry slammed his head back. 

He clenched his teeth as his skull knocked painfully against the other’s, his head jolting at the motion. A resounding _crack_ followed; Harry grinned despite the ringing in his ears, satisfaction abating the stinging heat blossoming in his head. 

_Take that, bastard!_

In the haze of his victory, Harry didn’t see it coming. Strong arms had swiftly seized his waist again, hauling him back against the other’s chest. The move made them both lose their balance, sending them tumbling to the ground. 

Harry bit back a groan as they landed, stars exploding in his vision. But _he_ had the advantage now. Without wasting a second, Harry flipped around on top of the man and pushed his elbow against his attacker’s neck. His knees locked around the other wizard’s, holding him in place.

He couldn’t see his assailant’s face because of the disillusionment, but he could almost taste the utter humiliation they must be feeling in this position. 

And then he felt something cold poke his right cheek. 

_A wand._

“Shit,” he muttered, and at the feeling of the wand incessantly digging into his skin, he promptly let go of the man underneath him.

“Good boy,” a familiar tenor whispered in his ear. 

Harry sucked in a sharp breath. “Riddle?”

“Your observational skills are unparalleled,” Riddle drawled. “Truly, the Order has gained a remarkable asset.” 

“You-! What in the _bloody hell_ were you thinking —”

“A ‘thank you’ would suffice.”

“You don’t need to keep me in check,” Harry hissed, trying to keep his voice down in his mounting anger. 

“Is that so?” Riddle returned, amusement lining his voice. “Then perhaps I’ll just undo the disillusionment —”

“No!” Harry winced as the whisper left his mouth a little too loudly, snapping his head back towards James. 

But James hadn’t moved an inch since Sirius left. His knuckles were pale where they gripped the countertop, as white as the marble. His face, usually so full of cheer, was enveloped in distress. 

“Let’s…let’s move away from here,” Harry said softly, looking away from James. 

He got up and away from Riddle before the man could say anything, heading towards the kitchen where James couldn’t see. His dinner sat there, untouched. The smell of the food wafted over to him even from a distance, looking as appetizing as ever.

Harry couldn’t seem to muster up any hunger. 

He turned away from the meal James and Lily had gotten for him and sat at the opposite side of the countertop. Harry frowned as his vision seemed to double for a second, blinking rapidly to clear it. That only seemed to make it worse, and Harry wondered if maybe his glasses fogged up during the tussle. 

He felt Riddle brush past him as he wiped his lenses on his shirt, the older boy soundlessly casting a privacy ward and undoing the disillusionment spell in the same instance. 

And when Riddle suddenly turned his wand in Harry’s direction, Harry nearly fell off his chair as he raised his hands in defense. 

“Wait, look, I didn’t know it was you —,” Harry blurted out, fumbling for his own wand. His fingers froze as a tingling sensation washed over him, centering around his head. “Oh.” 

Riddle snorted. “You didn’t even notice your concussion, did you?” 

“Er,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his head. “No… not really.” He was about to thank Riddle — for saving him from a very awkward and very disastrous encounter, and then for healing him — when a thought occurred to him. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he blurted out before he could think about how crass he sounded. 

“Sorry,” Harry amended, eyeing how one of Riddle’s brows had arched, “what I’m trying to say, is that I’m grateful for your help back there and all, but what are you doing here?” 

“I live here,” Riddle said simply, and Harry’s jaw dropped. 

“But- this is _Potter_ Manor!” 

“It’s also the Order Headquarters,” Riddle said, looking at him pointedly. “Some of us have nowhere else to go.” 

“Oh.” Harry shifted in his seat, suddenly finding the countertop very interesting. “Who else…?” 

“Lupin, Meadowes, and —” Riddle paused, relishing in Harry’s palpable curiosity. “— Black.”

Harry gulped. “Sirius lives here?”

“His pureblood family disowned him a couple years ago. It was quite the scandal, really.” Riddle turned to face the living room door, where Sirius had stormed out of mere minutes ago. “The Blacks are all staunch supporters of Grindelwald — Regulus included.” 

“So Regulus is…?”

“His brother,” Riddle provided easily. “The second son of Walburga and Orion Black. A proper pureblood heir — unlike his older brother — and Slytherin to boot.” 

_“_ _...my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them…that's him. He was younger than me, and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded.”_

Sirius’ voice, eerily similar to the bitter tone he had spoken to towards James just minutes ago, yet raspier with age and… tired. 

Another vision then. 

Uncomfortable, Harry quickly changed the topic. “So, er, Lupin lives here too then. And Meadowes,” Harry mumbled, mostly speaking to himself. He didn’t know much about Dorcas Meadowes, other than the short conversation he’d had with her earlier that day. Other than feeling vaguely intimidated by the witch’s formidable height and icy demeanor, there was nothing that indicated he knew of her before his amnesia — or from his prophetic visions.

Even though she didn’t have a bracelet, perhaps there was a reason Meadowes needed to stay at Potter Manor. 

Harry glanced down, eyes drawn to the metal glinting from Riddle’s wrist. The silver bracelet shone in the moonlight, as bright and noticeable as ever.

He furrowed his brows. “Hang on — don’t those bracelets track when you’re in the same place? If one of you got spot-checked…” 

Riddle looked at him appraisingly. “It does. But Lupin and I are bound to Lord Potter in a contract of security, under the Sixth Regulation.”

The man elaborated before Harry could ask: “Contracts are magically binding oaths that only pureblood lords can initiate. This security contract, in particular, means that Lupin and I are obligated to guard Lord Potter. Since our presences would be detected on Lily’s identification tag and vice versa, the contracts would protect us from questioning.”

Harry bit his lip, feeling immensely uncomfortable with the idea that Remus and Riddle were essentially contracted laborers. “That…that makes sense.” 

Riddle suddenly straightened, stepping away from the counter he was leaning against. “You got your answers,” he said, his voice low. Harry swallowed as he met Riddle’s gaze, the moon lighting half of the man’s face. “Now it’s my turn.” 

Harry gaped at him. “No wonder you were so forthcoming — Merlin, I can’t _believe_ you. This isn’t some-, some _tradeoff_ or whatever Slytherin thing you’re trying to do here!”

Riddle blinked. Harry gave him a flat look. “Come _on,_ it’s obvious you were a Slytherin.”

“You’ve never been to Hogwarts.”

“I’ve at least heard of the houses,” Harry said defensively, and tried not to think too hard of the vision he’d seen earlier that day, of a younger Riddle wearing green robes with a snake’s emblem. 

“Don’t be coy, we both know you’ve had visions of me.” 

Harry gritted his teeth at the sheer smugness in Riddle’s tone. “You’re not special, don’t worry.”

“Oh, but Harry,” Riddle said with a feral grin, “I made you _scream._ ” He took a step closer. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you Saw?” 

Harry faltered, and wondered if Riddle hadn’t healed his headache afterall. Why else was he feeling so faint, his skin hot yet clammy? “I- I can’t.”

“So many secrets,” Riddle cooed, his smile turning dark. _Dangerous._

“I have amnesia,” Harry protested weakly.

Riddle chuckled. “Ah yes,” he said mockingly. “Your amnesia.”

“I’m not lying about that,” Harry hissed, “trust me, I’d do anything to get my memories back.” 

“So you’re not suppressing them?”

“I- what?” Harry asked. 

“You just had one earlier, didn’t you? About Regulus…and just now, when you claimed I was in Slytherin.”

“How did you —?”

“You’re not very good at hiding your emotions,” Riddle said derisively. 

“So what?” 

The man smirked. “ _Gryffindor._ ”

“Listen here, Riddle,” Harry snarled, getting out of his seat. He reached a hand out to grab at Riddle’s collar, forcing the man’s head down. “I don’t know what kind of _game_ you’re playing, but it needs to stop. I’m sick of you and your need to stick your business into mine. Is it frustrating not knowing your future? Does that ignorance eat away at you?”

Harry laughed, loud and desperate. “Sucks, doesn’t it? Not knowing something about yourself. Now imagine that but with your entire _fucking life._ Yeah, I want to know who I was before all this. I want to know so fucking badly. But you know what I’ve realized? It’s worse to have only the scraps, just a hint of who you were.”

Harry tightened his hold on Riddle, baring his teeth. “So yeah, I’m suppressing my memories. And no, I’m not telling you what I Saw. This is my final warning: don’t _ever_ ask me again.” 

“My, my,” Riddle tsked after a moment. “You’re much scarier when you’re not afraid.”

“Afraid?” Harry spat, arching a brow. “I’m not afraid of you —”

“Not me, no.”

Harry frowned, confused at Riddle’s crypticness. The man wasn’t making any sense. When the hell was Harry afraid around Riddle in the first place? And of what? 

Harry was abruptly pulled from his thoughts when Riddle reached up and clasped Harry’s hand, spidery fingers wrapping around Harry’s which were still gripping the other’s robes. Harry waited for Riddle’s ridiculously long fingers to turn into claws, to shove him away, to do _something._ But Riddle only held on, his palm warm as it stayed completely still over his. 

Harry flushed. “What —?” 

“That scar,” he breathed, tilting his head, “does it hurt?”

“No,” Harry said, bewildered at the change in topic. “It doesn’t.”

They both went silent, Harry refusing to be cowed by the other wizard. But the dim lighting of the room, the way Riddle towered over him, and that predatory gleam in his eyes — it was unsettling. 

But Harry didn’t look away. Couldn’t look away. There was something about Riddle, something that captured his attention. 

Harry could only watch as Riddle reached his free hand up to his forehead, fingertips slowly brushing unruly hair away. Transfixed, he desperately tried not to think about why he wasn’t slapping Riddle’s hand away. 

Because even as every cell in his body was screaming at him to run away, he hadn’t pushed Riddle off of him. Hadn’t even spoken, when Riddle’s fingertips were just centimeters from the scar on his forehead, the skin starting to prickle ever so slightly. 

Suddenly, the sound of a door closing resounded in the silent room, the noise startling them out of their trance. Harry sprang away from Riddle as soon as he returned to his senses, instinctively brandishing his wand to cast a disillusionment spell over him and Riddle. 

A sullen James Potter shuffled into the room, his eyes tired and face sunken. James’ gaze swept past them, and settled on something to Harry’s right. A slight frown appeared on his face, making him seem even more exhausted. 

Harry followed James’ gaze, and nearly cursed when he realized he was looking at the uneaten food left out for him. He should have vanished the plate when he'd had the chance. He watched guiltily as James ran a hand through his hair — a motion Harry too found himself doing whenever he was stressed — and slumped against the countertop. 

With a silent flick, Harry cast a soundproof charm on his feet. Slowly, he crept past the counter and towards the stairs, holding his breath as he passed James. Though, he doubted James would have noticed even if he had sneezed.

With one last glance at the miserable boy, Harry turned towards the stairs and clambered up silently.   
  
  


* * *

“Morning, Harry!” 

Marlene’s voice was as bright and cheerful as ever, beaming at him as he stepped down from the stairs. 

“Morning,” Harry responded tentatively, surveying the room. On one side, James and Lily stood near where Marlene sat, the three of them presumably in conversation before he walked in. Remus was in one of the chairs at the dining table, across from Meadowes. On the other side of the room, Riddle lounged in an armchair, newspaper lying flat across his lap as he sipped his tea. 

Harry carefully avoided meeting his gaze. 

Lily came around the table and approached him. “You didn’t eat last night,” she said with a furrow in her brows. “Are you well?” 

“Yeah, sorry, I was just tired,” he mumbled. Clearing his throat, Harry scanned the room briefly to see if anyone was listening in on them. Marlene and James seemed preoccupied, talking quietly between each other, as were Remus and Meadowes. Riddle… 

Harry snapped his eyes back to Lily, furious at himself as his face heated up. “Er, but I am hungry now, if it’s no trouble.”

“Of course, of course,” Lily said, giving him a smile and ignoring how flushed he was. Harry thanked her, following her to the table where everyone was beginning to gather. Harry took the seat across from Marlene at her encouragement, giving a nod to Meadowes who was in the chair next to him. 

And on the other side… 

Harry contained his scowl as Riddle gracefully claimed the seat that had just been empty moments prior, shooting him a bedazzling smile. 

“Good morning, Harry,” the man said. “Did you sleep well last night?”

“Yes,” Harry bit out, forcing a smile on his own face. “You?”

“I slept just fine, thank you.” 

“Tom, how was your trip to Hogsmeade yesterday?” Marlene asked, slicing a piece of bacon and popping it into her mouth. 

“Faster than expected, truth be told. Far less busy than I had feared,” Riddle said, a pleasant smile on his lips. “And of course, I got you your favorite from Honeydukes.”

“More fizzing whizbees? You angel!” Marlene exclaimed around her mouthful, grinning. “Thanks Tom, you’re the best.”

“It’s no problem.” Riddle took another bite of his scone. “Did you make these yourself, Lily?” 

“Yes, actually,” Lily said bashfully. 

“They’re lovely,” Riddle told her after careful consideration, dabbing at his mouth with a handkerchief. Lily beamed. 

_Pompous asshat,_ Harry thought furiously. 

Harry stayed silent as the table continued to engage in mindless chatter, Riddle flawlessly interjecting himself at the perfect moments. Harry… Harry didn’t know how to feel about seeing how effortlessly the man seemed to engage with everyone. It was discomforting, how different Riddle was to everyone else. 

Was that how Riddle would’ve acted towards Harry, if he hadn’t called the man out on his facade? Was he reading too much into it?

Harry sipped his tea, trying his best to ignore Riddle’s presence beside him.

“Does anyone know when the next meeting is?” Marlene asked suddenly, her voice carrying over everyone else’s. 

“Tomorrow evening,” Meadowes replied evenly, face stoic as ever. “McGonagall won’t be there though.” 

Lily frowned. “Why not?”

“Minerva’s away on Hogwarts business,” Riddle said. “Deputy duties, no doubt. Slughorn may be competent in potions, but his leadership leaves much to be desired.”

“Oh, interesting,” Marlene said with a hand on her chin. “Who’s leading the meeting, then?”

“Alastor, I believe.”

Everyone shared a look between each other at that. Marlene coughed gently into her hand, stifling what Harry now realized was a laugh. “Ah. I see.” 

“Um,” Harry spoke up. “Who is that again?”

“Did anyone ever say the words ‘constant vigilance’ to you yesterday?” 

“Oh,” Harry said. “Yeah, I remember him. He, uh, didn’t talk much. Walked in and out of the room a couple times… and er, sniffed around a bit?” 

“That,” Remus piped in, “sounds exactly like him.”

A ripple of laughter ran around the table, though Harry’s amusement slipped away when he caught the faraway look on James’ face. His gaze, Harry noted glumly, was trained on the staircase leading down to the kitchen.

“Harry,” Lily interrupted, “is that your owl?”

Harry squinted. Sure enough, Hedwig was perched right outside the window, tapping against the glass with her beak. The bird ruffled her feathers and let out a loud squawk, noticing all the attention on her. 

Merlin, he’d forgotten all about her. 

“Er, yes,” Harry said. “Sorry, one moment.”

Harry shot up in his seat, rushing over to where the owl was hopping about excitedly. He almost smiled at the sight, but the gnawing worry kept growing with every step he took.

Why was Hedwig here? 

Harry peered over the ledge a little, his hand stilling over the latch of the window. There was something in Hedwig’s talons.

_Please,_ Harry thought, _don’t let it be a portkey._

“You gonna let her in?” Marlene asked, walking up to him. Harry chanced a glance behind her, wincing as he realized the entire table had stopped talking to see what was wrong. 

“Um…” Harry started, willing his voice to stay steady. “She — the owl, Hedwig, I mean — can be a little aggressive? Yeah, and, um, I don’t really want her to attack anyone or anything —” 

He saw Lily tilt her head curiously, and cursed when he realized the witch had met Hedwig before, and the bloody bird had all but _purred_ at Lily’s affections. 

“Oh,” Marlene said, though she clearly doubted his words. She gave one meaningful look towards Hedwig, before walking back to the breakfast table. “Say, did anyone read the paper this morning?”

Harry let out a sigh of relief, giving Hedwig a side glare when the owl tapped on the window. “I’ll give you attention _later,_ ” he hissed, waving a dismissive hand before turning back to the breakfast table. 

His eyes met Riddle’s accidentally. 

The man was resting his chin on one hand, the other loosely wrapped around his mug. His eyebrows were arched, his face the epitome of innocent inquiry. 

Harry felt all his defenses go up. Riddle, for all that he acted the charming young man, was hiding something. And perhaps it was something not of his own doing — like Harry, perhaps he was forced into hiding something. But Harry would keep his guard up around him. He _had_ to. 

Because if anyone were to figure him out, he had an ill feeling that Riddle would be the one to. 

Pulling himself out of his brooding, Harry hurried back to his seat next to Riddle, and gave him a brilliant smile. “Pass me the muffins, will you?” 

Riddle met his gaze. “Of course.” 

* * *

Harry rushed up to his room, locking the door behind him and checking for any spells on his person. 

_You’re being far too paranoid,_ he told himself firmly. 

With one final spell, he rushed to the window in his room and opened the latch. Hedwig was already on the ledge, cooing at him as she dangled the letter in her talon. It was a small thing — most likely charmed to look as inconspicuous as possible. 

_And hopefully not charmed for anything else._

Clenching his jaw, Harry reached for Hedwig and untied the letter. 

_Harry,_

_I hope you are doing well. I admit your presence here has been sorely missed. Nevertheless, I understand that you cannot visit me this week._

_I hear you are getting along with your cousin and his wife. James and Lily Potter, was it? A handsome couple they make, I’m sure you agree. I’ve yet to visit Potter Manor, but perhaps one day I’ll drop by. If the rumors are true, Sirius Black has also made a home there recently. And of course, the papers made quite the ruckus over Remus Lupin when he was contracted. Dreadful, that. Have you been acquainted with either of them?_

_Ah, enough with the gossip. I’m sure they are lovely people, and I expect to hear all about them in your letter. I hope to receive it before I set off tomorrow night._

_I eagerly await your reply._

_G_

Harry crumpled the parchment into his hand, using every last bit of his self-control to keep from burning the letter up in flames. It was easy enough to decipher what Grindelwald wanted. 

The only positive in the message was that he wouldn’t have to visit the lord. But any feelings of relief were short-lived as he reread the second part of the letter.

_I’ve yet to visit Potter Manor, but perhaps one day I’ll drop by._

What did Grindelwald actually mean here? Was it just a formality? What if he actually meant it, and wanted to see Harry at the manor?

_Or,_ Harry thought with a cold feeling in his stomach, _does he mean James?_

And the worst part — why did Grindelwald mention Sirius and Remus, but not Riddle and Meadowes?

There was no question that Grindelwald named those two on purpose; he was trying to get Harry to confirm the information. 

But Riddle was contracted too. Even if it wasn’t as big of a deal, shouldn’t Grindelwald know? Harry still didn’t understand much of the bracelets, but surely the regime would have some sort of record to keep track of them?

…Was this a test?

And if it was — then what about Meadowes? Should Harry report her? The witch didn’t have a bracelet, and seemed like a private person. Maybe Grindelwald didn’t know about her living in the manor as well. 

But was that a risk he should take? 

Harry groaned, sitting down on his bed as he balled up the letter in his hands. He didn’t know what to do. 

_We can help him find a place elsewhere…_

Unbidden, Sirius' words from the night before floated into his mind. A place elsewhere, the boy had said. 

Harry shot up, the parchment in his hand crumpling tighter in his fist.

That’s right… Sirius wanted him to leave. 

The paper vanished in his hand without a sound, his nails now biting into his palm.

In the end, he would just be a burden to James and Lily anyways. And Sirius was right; him staying would only put everyone else in danger. It was better if he left. It wasn’t like the Order needed him anyways.

Harry paced across the room, ignoring the way Hedwig blinked at him as he crossed left and right. 

All of a sudden, his pillows burst into a flurry of white feathers and ragged cloth, the room exploding into a storm of white. 

Hedwig shrieked indignantly, her wings beating away the feathers that rained down on them. Harry stared at the remains of the pillow, the rush of adrenaline leaving his body as he took in his surroundings. 

Hedwig let out a low whistle, staring at him accusingly. 

“Er,” Harry said, “I swear they aren’t real feathers… I think.”

The owl hooted, her feathers ruffled as she approached him warily. 

“I’m sorry girl,” Harry murmured, offering her his fingers. She nipped him in reprimand, chirping quietly as he moved his fingers down her head. “And I’m sorry I left you at the Leaky, but is it okay if we go back? Promise I’m coming with you this time.” 

Hedwig cooed in response. Harry smiled down at her, and then got up on his feet and offered his arm to the bird. “Let’s go back, then.”

The owl flew onto his arm, nudging her beak against his cheek. Harry laughed, indulging in her affectionate behavior. With one last glance around the room, Harry opened the window and gestured towards the sky.

“Go on, girl. I’ll see you at the Leaky.” Hedwig squawked loudly and took off into the air. Harry watched as she flew farther and farther away, wishing he could do the same. 

With a great sigh, he turned around and faced the mess that was his bed. 

…Except there was no longer a mess. On top of the now pristine bed, sitting there rather innocently, was a small bag. 

Harry stared at it for a second, incredulous at the sight. Was it the manor that had done this for him? 

Unnerved but deciding not to question it, Harry grabbed the bag off the bed and headed out of the bedroom without a second thought. Closing the door behind him, Harry took a deep breath before gripping his wand to ready a disillusionment charm.

“What are you doing?” 

Harry whirled towards the sound, his wand sparking at the tip as he levelled it at the figure. 

“Remus,” Harry breathed, lowering his wand. Remus’ brows were raised, and Harry willed his blush down at the slightly disbelieving look on the other’s face.

“I’m sorry, you just…surprised me,” Harry said, cheeks reddening more at Remus’ chuckle. 

“Yes, I can see.” 

Harry cleared his throat. “Well, ah, lovely to see you and all, but er, I’ll be heading in that direction so —”

“Harry,” Remus said, “why are you holding a bag?”

Harry squirmed a little, unable to meet Remus’ gaze. The man just seemed to see right through him. 

“I’m leaving,” Harry told him quietly, giving up the pretense. 

“Leaving?” Remus asked, his tone gentle and not at all judgmental. 

“I’ve stayed for too long. Besides, I’ve got a room at the Leaky, I’ll be fine.”

“James and Lily are more than happy to —”

“But not everyone is!” Harry exploded, and Remus’ eyes widened. Harry took a deep breath, holding both his hands up in a placating manner. “I’m sorry, I…”

Remus took a step towards him. “Is this about Sirius?”

“No,” Harry said immediately, “of course not.” 

Remus said nothing. 

Harry sighed. “...Okay, maybe.”

“You know,” Remus started, “I tried to leave too. Many times, actually.” 

“You…? But why?”

Remus smiled bitterly. “I’m a werewolf.” 

Oh. 

_Oh._

Well, that explained the claw marks on his face. 

“I think I knew,” Harry told him. “I mean, I had a vision of it but I just…”

“It’s alright.” Remus looked at him. “You’re taking this a lot better than I imagined, anyways. I’m a dark creature, Harry. And while Grindelwald’s regime has benefited dark creatures in some people’s eyes, essentially, we’re just useful tools to him. Weapons.” 

Harry frowned, glancing down to the gold bracelet Remus wore on his wrist. Remus, noticing where his attention had strayed to, lifted his hand. “Every full moon, this sends me to a base of some sorts. A training regiment, we think. My memory is hazy when I transform so I can’t describe it, but the Order has pinpointed a rough location.” 

“So how did you come about joining the Order?” Harry asked. “Did you go to Hogwarts?”

“No,” Remus said, and there was something bitter in his voice. “No, werewolves don’t go to Hogwarts.”

“Oh,” Harry said, and tried not to think about the visions he’d had of Remus, the ones that made _Hogwarts_ and _Remus_ seem to distinctly go together. 

_The illusion of a mild, meek professor…_

In the vision he’d had of Remus’ future, the man was clearly a professor. Maybe… maybe Remus would have his chance to go to Hogwarts one day. 

Remus exhaled slowly, a hand rubbing his temples. “What I was trying to get at was, I understand. Sirius… he can be a little much. I don’t know if you’ve heard of his family, but he’s very hasty to judge. Overcompensating, I think, because of what his family made him do in the past.”

“Was he…?” Harry gestured to Remus. 

“Was he very opposed to my joining the Order? Yes,” Remus admitted, mouth twisting into a peculiar smile. “It took weeks for even a modicum of trust.” 

“But- but that’s so unfair!” 

“Harry,” Remus said. He looked tired, Harry noted. He was suddenly struck with the realization that Remus was only a year older than him. 

_He’s so young,_ Harry thought sadly. 

And then all Harry could feel was an intense wave of self-loathing; while Remus had to fight to gain the Order’s trust, Harry was all but warranting that suspicion he’d faced. And if the Order ever found out about Harry’s status…what would happen to Remus? 

He couldn’t stay here.

“Be careful,” Remus said with resignation, as though he knew what conclusion Harry had reached. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry replied, then turned on his feet without another word.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again to [remaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/remaya) for betaing this chapter!!! you're the best <3 <3 <3
> 
> also -- yay for making it to ch.10!!! thankyou for all the support everyone :')

_...Black is keeping distant, but Lupin I’ve talked to a little. He seems to be the outlier of Potter’s friends. Not much else going on in the manor otherwise._

_But there’s someone you didn’t mention — Tom Riddle Jr. He’s more perceptive than the others._

_I’ll proceed with caution._

_H_

“Sir?”

He looked up at the sound, setting the letter down on his desk — though he didn’t quite let go of it completely. “Yes?” 

The man across from him shifted on his feet. “If I may be so bold as to ask…” 

He hummed, inclining his head slightly as an indication for the other to continue. “...I was wondering if you had considered my request from a week ago?” 

“Your request?”

The other wizard fumbled, opening and closing his mouth as he attempted to gather his wits. “About the house-elves, sir.” 

“Remind me, will you?” The man nodded eagerly and rattled off his concerns. The words washed over him, his attention wandering back to far more important matters. He eyed the messily scrawled, barely legible letter in his hands speculatively. 

“That’ll be enough,” he told the guard, and watched in amusement as the man shut his jaw with an audible _clack._ “I remember now. You’re dismissed.” 

The man bowed sharply and left without another word. Finally alone, he returned to the letter freely without distraction. 

_But there’s someone you didn’t mention…_

He wondered how long Harry Potter brooded over writing such short, simple words — so simple, yet so significant. 

“ _Tom Riddle Junior._ ” 

Grindelwald smirked.

* * *

“Ah, Mr. Black,” he called out, a smile tugging at his lips. “Please, come in.” 

Regulus Black straightened up at the command, his eyes lowered respectfully as he cautiously made his way in. 

“My lord,” Black said, bowing once he was at his desk. Grindelwald continued to dip his feather into the inkpot, taking his time to finish the letter on his desk. 

It was only after he had leisurely finished writing that he spoke, though he didn’t bother to look up and acknowledge the boy. “Speak.” 

“As requested, I’ve been keeping track of Harry Potter’s whereabouts,” Black said, face void of emotion, “and it appears Potter has left the Manor. He has now taken up residence at the Leaky Cauldron.” 

Grindelwald stilled. His fingers that were folding the parchment halted, the thick paper unwavering as he held it loosely. 

_Oh,_ he thought almost fondly, _that foolish boy._

He resumed his task, creasing the letter one more time before slipping it into an envelope. With a lazy flick of his hand, the envelope sealed and slotted itself away. 

He could practically feel Black’s uncertainty as the silence stretched longer. Taking pity on the boy, Grindelwald laced his fingers together and gave him his full attention. “I’d like you to continue keeping an eye on Harry Potter, Mr. Black.”

Black nodded mechanically, a blank look on his face. But Grindelwald could see the muscles in his jaw twitch, and his eyes flicker to the side every so often. The boy wasn’t as removed from his feelings as he thought himself to be.

As the seconds passed, Black finally caved. “May I inquire what about Potter is so special?” 

Grindelwald lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I have reason to believe that James Potter is engaging in treasonous behavior. If we wish to find evidence, putting his cousin under surveillance is our utmost priority.” 

“Why not have me watch James Potter directly then, my lord? Why the cousin?” Black asked, a slight frown marring his face. 

“The Potter heir is a rather difficult target — married, living with a brotherly figure, constantly surrounded by visitors at all times. On top of that, you may recall he’s recently contracted a werewolf for security purposes.” 

Black nodded stiffly, but didn't say anything else. Grindelwald continued: “You are a highly intelligent wizard, Regulus. Surely you understand why I cannot simply arrest Potter — at the moment, the only proof I have would indict not only Potter, but also all the residents of his manor. And I don’t wish to lock up innocents who were uninvolved.” 

Grindelwald smiled inwardly, watching as the boy attempted to mask the flurry of emotions the words invoked.

Of course, what Regulus Black didn’t know was that his brother was most certainly involved in the crimes Potter was committing. Or perhaps, some part of him _knew_ that Sirius Black was just as guilty, but he had fooled himself into believing that he could bring his brother back. 

As petty and trivial such entanglements tended to be, Grindelwald took great delight in making use of them. And oh, how _useful_ they were. The remaining Black heir tried so valiantly to remain stoic and detached, but Grindelwald could see past the mask. 

He could tell how much his older brother’s betrayal had affected him, making him more insecure, _vulnerable._ It was too easy. 

Grindelwald knew everything about betrayal, afterall. 

“Do you still keep contact with your older brother?”

“No,” Black said firmly. 

“Hm. How unfortunate,” Grindelwald murmured. “It’s a shame to lose family, especially if you were close.”

“We weren’t,” Black said scathingly, and then, remembering himself, added: “sir.”

“No?” Grindelwald questioned. 

“Sirius is… different from the rest of us. His sorting to Gryffindor and befriendment of James Potter only confirmed that.” 

“Ah, of course. He has found a new family that shares his righteous morals.”

Black’s breathing stuttered for the briefest of moments — but Grindelwald caught it nonetheless. 

He leaned forwards in his seat, pouncing on the open weakness. “I know what it’s like to be betrayed, Regulus. Though he wasn’t my brother by blood, I’d like to think we were as close, if not closer.” 

Black raised his head from where it was lowered respectfully, curiosity brimming in his sharp eyes. He seemed to hesitate, the question on the tip of his tongue as he opened then closed his mouth. _Who?_

But the boy did not speak. Grindelwald's smile turned sharper, pleased at Black’s restraint. 

He had trained them well. 

And he rewarded those who obeyed.

“Few seem to recall that Albus Dumbledore was once a close friend of mine before our duel,” Grindelwald said slowly, taking his time to divulge the information. “He was the one I’d shared my ambitions with, who I’d confided in before my rise to power. _We_ shared the responsibility to reform our society.” 

Black openly stared at him, his cautious demeanor loosening with every word. “Albus Dumbledore was your —?” 

Grindelwald nodded solemnly. “He’d abandoned me when I needed him most, leaving me to shoulder the duty alone. Dumbledore backed down because he began to fear the dark arts, and the sacrifice that comes with it.” 

“He was _weak_ ,” Black spat.

“Yes,” Grindelwald agreed, “he was. In the end, it was better that he left, that I was no longer dragged down by his fickle loyalties. But sometimes… sometimes I wonder if I could have changed his mind. Perhaps we could have settled our differences in a way less… _permanent._ ” 

He leaned back in his seat as Black kept quiet, engrossed in his story. The rigid front he had put up was all but gone, his turmoil blatantly on display. 

_Perfect._

Grindelwald continued smoothly, his voice gentler. “We carry a similar burden, you and I. And though the burden may be great, always remember…”

He stood up, waving his wand in a sweeping motion. A small, silver pin was procured from thin air, which then drifted over to Black’s wide eyes.

“It’s for _the greater good._ ” 

* * *

Grindelwald strode down the dimly lit hallway, his footsteps echoing loudly off the stone. There was a chill within the very air, a deep-seated coldness that penetrated even the strongest warming charms. Not that he minded all that much. 

There was something comforting about the old, mossed walls. Even the perpetual scent of death and decay — which usually made his more _delicate_ guards gag — was something he found solace in. 

He ignored the muffled wails that followed him as he passed by the cells, confident strides taking him through the various twists and turns of the castle. He knew the place by heart; the cell he was visiting today was one he was especially acquainted with. 

His gait slowed as he reached a warded door, allowing the magic to recognize his signature. It opened with a sharp _hiss,_ a gust of cool air brushing past him. The corridor beyond was dark, with only the smallest of flames lighting the shadowed room at the end. 

Grindelwald took a moment to breathe in, a sharp smile on his face. He resumed his steps once again, careful to keep a relaxed pace despite the anticipation building in his gut. It wasn’t a long walk — soon enough, the figure within the cell became visible even through the darkness. 

“Back again so soon?” A voice called out from within the cell, calm and pleasant. 

Grindelwald chuckled. “Miss me?” 

“No,” a humourless laugh followed, “but I don’t reckon that will deter you anyways.”

“You would be correct,” he replied pleasantly. 

A beat passed where neither said a word. Grindelwald took the time to lean against the wall, his eyes never straying from the prisoner inside. As the seconds ticked by, the tension in the man’s shoulders bled out, his head lolling back a little. 

“You seem rather…content today.”

“I _am_ ,” Grindelwald conceded. “I was just recounting the tragic demise of our friendship to Regulus Black.” 

“Manipulating another poor child, Gellert? It’s what you are best at, I suppose,” Albus Dumbledore said, eyes cracking open to give him a flat look. 

He made a pathetic sight: ragged clothes hanging off of him, bones protruding from grey skin, and scarred hands resting on top of thin knees. Thick, silver chains wrapped around his bare ankles, though they were easy to miss in the dark.

But his auburn hair was as bright as ever, face unblemished despite all the years. Just like Grindelwald’s own. 

“I heard something you might be interested in,” Grindelwald started conversationally, ignoring Dumbledore’s last remark. He watched the wizard carefully as he said, “Tom Riddle lives.” 

“...I feared that would be the case,” Dumbledore sighed, his eyes grave yet unsurprised.

Grindelwald’s eye twitched. Even rotting away in a dank cell, Albus Dumbledore continued to be an infuriatingly cryptic menace. “Is there something you forgot to mention, Albus?”

“I told you everything I knew at the time,” Dumbledore said softly, holding his gaze. “But my suspicions, _those_ I feared would be labelled as one of my meandering speculations.” 

Grindelwald snarled, latching onto the bars. “You withheld information from me, _vital_ information. Now a threat I’d thought was eliminated has returned; this time, he’ll be more careful.” 

No answer. 

After a long silence, Grindelwald sighed deeply and kneeled by the edge of the cell. He truly _was_ in a good mood. Otherwise, Dumbledore would be on the other end of the Deathstick by now, begging for mercy.

Not that he was ever grateful for the reprieve.

Dumbledore was no longer looking at him, his eyes drifting above them. Grindelwald followed his gaze. There was nothing to see — just cracks along the stone, thin lines that betrayed the age of the strong yet ancient castle walls. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Dumbledore turned his head slightly at the question.

“I didn’t want to believe he had so horrifically mutilated his soul,” the man admitted eventually. Though he looked as youthful as the day they had duelled, in that moment, Albus’ expression reflected his true age. 

“Horcruxes,” Grindelwald breathed, disgust lacing the single word. “How vile.” 

Albus nodded. “I’m glad there are things we still agree on.”

“You do realize I still pursue the Hallows?” 

A hum. “And you are a fool for it.” 

Grindelwald chuckled, unbothered by the insolence. For now. 

Yet he hadn’t come down here to catch up with his old friend — no matter how _enjoyable_ his company always was. It was easy to get sidetracked with meaningless conversation. Albus was always good at that. 

They’d shared so many things in the past afterall. Luckily, despite the higher moral ground Albus believed himself to be on, the man was no saint. 

Albus could be forthcoming if he played his cards right. 

Grindelwald lowered his voice, allowing some vulnerability to slip in. “How much of a threat is Riddle?”

“...Enough of one,” came the vague reply. 

Grindelwald lifted a brow. “You think he could kill me?” 

“I don’t know, Gellert. You’ve kept me here for decades. The last I’d seen of Riddle was when he was but a schoolboy. They truly were only suspicions.” Albus sighed. “Much has changed, I’m sure.” 

“Yes,” Grindelwald said. “But you were right, all those years ago. He was magically powerful, clearly dabbling in the dark arts. It was only because of you I’d caught him off-guard. With the precarious situation Britain is in right now, the last thing I need is an influential figure to oppose my rule.” 

Some part of him wondered if he should disclose more to his former enemy. But no matter how little of a threat Albus now was, Grindelwald knew not to underestimate the man’s own capabilities with twisting words against another. 

“You shouldn’t have killed him with so little information,” Albus said suddenly. 

Grindelwald shifted. “ _You_ advised it.”

“I only said he could be a threat. Was I wrong?” 

“No, you were not.” A pause. “How many do you suppose he’s made?” 

“I do not know,” Albus said stiffly. Grindelwald turned to him, his eyes narrowing. 

“Truly?” he questioned, tone turning icy. “Not even a _meandering speculation?_ ”

Albus exhaled slowly. “I was foolish to have helped you once. You will no longer be getting aid from me, Gellert.” 

“Of course,” Grindelwald said coolly, a contemptuous smile on his lips. “So you’ll allow Riddle to remain immortal, then?”

“He will fall,” Albus proclaimed quietly. “Not by you, not by me. But by his own hand.” 

Grindelwald took a moment to consider the words, fiddling with his wand. “Tearing one’s soul apart… I suspect his sanity is unstable enough to warrant your beliefs.” 

Albus cleared his throat, his eyes drawn to Grindelwald’s wand. “You do realize all methods of immortality have consequences?” 

It was the same old argument. Dumbledore, as wise as he could be, was no longer the friend of his boyhood days. In the end, he was only an idealistic coward who’d been beaten by a greater wizard. Grindelwald grew tired of it. 

“If you no longer support our goals, so be it. But do not talk as though you are above me Albus. At the end of the day, _I_ rule over half the world while _you_ rot away in a prison cell.” 

Dumbledore said nothing while Grindelwald sheathed the Elder Wand. “I will unite the Hallows. While it saddens me that we did not achieve it together, perhaps you are not meant to take this path with me.” 

“So you will finally let me go?” 

“To greet Death like a friend?” He sneered. “As you wish. But only once I have mastered it, so you may see for yourself what exactly you passed up on.” 

At the lack of reaction, Grindelwald pushed off the ground and drew up to his full height. “I hope you understand what a grave mistake you’ve made, my _dear_ friend.” 

“Forgive me,” Dumbledore said simply, “but the only mistake I made was trusting you in the first place.”

Grindelwald laughed. His entire body shook as he laughed, the emptiness of the air filling with the sound of his mocking titters. 

“The _only_ mistake, hm?” 

With a smile, Grindelwald turned his back on Dumbledore. He took a few steps down the hall, only pausing to call over his shoulder, “sweet dreams, Albus.” 

He disapparated as soon as the warded door locked itself shut, sealing Dumbledore away from the rest of the world. 

He grabbed his cloak the second he landed in his office, flinging it over his shoulders in one sweeping motion. Eyeing the parchment still on his desk, he set it aflame with barely a twitch of his fingers. He’d already memorized the contents of the letter anyways. 

Breathing in the smell of ash, Grindelwald disapparated once more.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!!!
> 
> thanks again to Remaya for betaing, ilysm <3 <3 <3

It was quieter at the Leaky. 

He hadn’t noticed it when he was there, but Potter Manor was always bustling with some sort of noise. Order members coming and going, Lily and James talking quietly between themselves, Marlene’s chatter filling the room. Even Riddle and Sirius, as quiet as the two normally were, were louder than the deafening silence that seemed to fall on Harry’s rented room. 

He supposed that was what happened with only an owl for company. 

Yet even Hedwig seemed to be unusually quiet, sleeping through most of the day and taking flight as soon as the sky grew dark. Harry wondered what she did during those nights, other than…sending letters.

He looked out the window, ignoring the itch on his forearm. 

It was dark outside. Night had fallen before he knew it, another day passed in solitude. Street lights were beginning to flicker out as stores closed for the night. Only the pubs remained open, people stumbling out together with laughter on their faces. 

_The three of them stumbled out of Honeydukes, heading up the streets. Their heads were bowed against the wind, Ron and Hermione shouting to be heard above the noise._

_“That’s the post office —”_

_“Zonko’s is up there —”_

Harry turned away from the sight, eyes shut tightly. But the voices lingered, echoes of laughter haunting him despite how hard he pressed against his ears. 

_“We could go up to the Shrieking Shack —”_

“Go away,” he whispered harshly, as though the bitterness in his tone would chase away the memory.

_“...go for a Butterbeer… Three Broomsticks…”_

Harry shook his head, banishing the thought. “Go _away._ ”

The vision finally receded.

Harry sprang up from the armchair, leaving his place by the windowsill where he’d been sitting. His legs felt stiff, his mind numb, but at least he had enough sense in him to know he couldn’t sit there and brood for hours straight. Like he did the night before. 

He walked to the foot of his bed resolutely. He stretched his hand out, fingertips lingering on the covers as he wondered whether he _really_ needed sleep. He hadn’t slept at all yesterday, but honestly? He felt perfectly fine. 

Besides, did he really need to rest at a time like this? He shouldn’t let his guard down. He was alone now, vulnerable in a decidedly unpredictable situation. Even if Grindelwald wasn’t going to barge in right this second — 

Harry stilled, hand frozen where it’d been picking at the skin of his left arm. 

He determinedly didn’t look down at it, and instead, crawled underneath the covers. He turned the lights off with a whispered _nox_ , and settled into a comfortable position. He wouldn’t scratch at it if he was asleep. 

Five minutes later, he shifted again. This time facing away from the window — clearly, it was distracting — and towards the door to the hallway.

Only to roll back over to the window a moment later. And then on his back, staring up listlessly towards the ceiling. 

He couldn’t sleep. Again. 

Harry lifted his left arm up above his head so it was level with his now wide-open eyes. Even in the darkness, the Deathly Hallows symbol stood out like the stain it was on his flesh, peeking out under layers of glamors. He’d given up after the third one of the day.

For some reason, the glamors were failing him ever since he’d returned to the Leaky.

Harry shut his eyes, unable to look at it any longer. He let his hand drift upwards, content to think of anything but Grindelwald and that hideous, hideous mark. 

He regretted that a second later, when his hand inevitably traveled up to his forehead, running cold fingertips over the scar there. _Yet another mark._

It was barely discernible from the rest of his unblemished skin — dormant, compared to the swelling rupture it had been when… 

_When what? When Riddle legilimized you? When you couldn’t remember what exactly had happened? When he’d_ kept _what happened from you?_

And now that his thoughts had drifted to Riddle, he couldn’t stop thinking about him. What had happened that Harry couldn’t remember? Did Riddle see his scar bleed? He must have. Then why didn’t he say anything? Why did he nearly touch Harry’s scar, as though in a trance?

 _And why did Harry expect something to happen if Riddle_ had _touched it?_

Harry shivered under the covers, curling tighter into himself. Thinking about Grindelwald and Riddle and strange marks that kept acting up was making him paranoid, evidently. He was just imagining the cold.

It was spring in London. While Harry hadn’t stepped a foot outside his room, let alone the building itself, everyone outside seemed to be enjoying the milder weather. 

...And yet it was _freezing_ in his room despite the warm, spring night it should be. Harry drew his wand from where he held it under his pillow, and cast a quick spell to warm himself up. 

The chill didn’t thaw. 

Harry shot up into a sitting position, his wand out as he casted _lumos maxima_ over the room. The light was blinding in its strength, filling every crook with its intensity. But in the split second it took to reach that point, he’d thought he’d seen — 

His mind was playing tricks on him. 

“I need to sleep,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes with enough force that dots danced in front of him.

He fell flat on his back, his head hitting the pillows with a _thunk._ He fiddled with his wand, the incantation sitting on the tip of his tongue, ready to let darkness overtake the room. 

Harry shivered again, and let his arm fall flat still gripping his wand. 

Seconds, minutes, hours seemed to pass. Harry stayed unmoving, unblinking as the cold seeped into his bones. 

Loud laughter came from outside, voices muffled but not quite silenced by the Leaky’s supposed soundproof walls. Harry peered over to look outside, but from his angle, he couldn’t even see the top of the pub building. 

Instead, he caught sight of a diary. It was the one Marlene had given to him all those days ago, sitting innocently on his bedside table the entire time, untouched. 

_“..._ _this is for writing those memories down. To keep track of them.”_

Harry eyed the black book for a second longer, then resolutely turned over onto his stomach. 

“I need to sleep,” he mumbled into his pillow, wrapping a hand around it and squeezing it tightly. “It’s nice and cozy in my warm, warm bed. It’s _not_ cold. I really need to sleep.”

A minute passed. Then another. 

By the third, Harry had flipped the diary open to the first page. 

Dipping his quill into the inkpot, Harry hesitated only for a brief second before pushing himself to write the first word.

 _My name is Harry Potter,_ he wrote, scowling as yet another vision tried to invade his thoughts. 

He had half a mind to stop altogether, knowing that writing his memories down was only going to lead to a massive headache as he battled with his infuriating amnesia. 

“I could always sleep,” he reasoned out loud.

Harry kept writing.

He wrote of hazy memories out on the quidditch pitch, Ginny’s flaming red hair glowing in the sun as she shot him an equally dazzling smile. Of lazy Sundays in the library, flicking Ron in the forehead whenever he looked seconds from falling asleep from Hermione’s lectures. Of Neville’s smiling face as they traded spells, his quiet determination and infectious enthusiasm palpable. Of Luna’s dreamy eyes and radish earrings and wand tucked behind her left ear.

His heart ached. He wanted to search through hell and back to find them, to be with them again... 

But it was too dangerous; he’d decided on this as soon as Grindelwald had released him on that fateful day. The desire to find his friends — to make sure they were safe, that they still knew he was _alive —_ ate up at him, but he couldn’t risk it. 

Couldn’t risk Grindelwald’s wrath. 

_They’ll be safer,_ he told himself, stifling a wave of melancholy. 

Harry continued to write. 

At some point, words started turning into scribbles, which then morphed into sketches. They were terrible; horribly misaligned and entirely indecipherable. But there were things he couldn’t quite grasp in words. People that he’d only seen glimpses of, but felt important to him somehow.

He sketched a boy with a pointy face and fitted robes. An impossibly tall man on a motorbike, an umbrella in one hand and a cake in the other. A small creature with large, glimmering eyes holding a pair of mismatched socks.

 _“Socks are Dobby’s favorite, favorite clothes, sir! I has seven now, sir… But sir…they has made a mistake in the shop, Harry Potter, they is giving you two the same!”_

Harry slammed the book shut, leaping out of his chair as he brought his hands up over his ears. The voice was in his head, he _knew_ that, but somehow blocking his ears helped remind him of the painful truth: _they’re just memories._

Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry repeated the thought over and over until that was all he could hear in his head. 

At last, Dobby disappeared. 

Harry slowly opened his eyes, surveying his surroundings and letting out a sigh of relief when he didn’t spot a tiny, floppy-eared creature. 

And then he noticed his inkpot tipped over, black liquid oozing all over his diary. 

“Shit,” Harry muttered, righting the pot. He picked the book off his desk, wiping the ink that pooled on the cover with his sleeve. He flipped through the pages quickly, trying not to look at the contents, relieved to find no stains.

He paused at the last page. 

His quill must have dripped ink onto the sketch while he’d zoned out. Black splattered over the doodle of the elf — _Dobby —_ leaving behind a smear of dark liquid over his chest. 

Harry shut the diary.

* * *

A day later, James and Lily sent him a letter.

He’d spotted them lingering around the Leaky’s pub, casually looking over the area. They’d been looking for him. And Harry, the coward that he was, had walked right back up to his room. 

He couldn’t bring himself to talk to them, to give them the explanation they deserved. To at least tell them something, even if it was more lies _._

Because that was all that their perception of him was based on anyways. 

_It’s to protect James,_ he told himself. 

Grindelwald would’ve been suspicious if Harry hadn’t learned anything new in an entire week. Grindelwald would’ve asked for more information, would’ve doubted him, would’ve sent someone else to do the job and then James would be in danger. More danger. 

He was already in danger because of Harry, but Harry could lessen that. He could distract Grindelwald with someone else, someone like Riddle, someone who _deserved_ it. 

_But did Riddle deserve it?_

“I did the right thing,” Harry said out loud.

Did it matter that goosebumps rose whenever he saw Riddle, the back of his neck prickling with unease? That some innate sense told him this wizard was dangerous, that he should stay away? That his blood pumped fiery hot with a sense of _wrong wrong wrong_ — 

At least Riddle wasn’t betraying the Order.

Harry shook his head, trying to push his thoughts away. “He’s hiding something.” 

_So are you._

“Better him than James.” 

_Is it though?_ _  
__  
_“I had to do it.”

_It should have been you._

“It should have been me,” Harry repeated hallowly.

“It should have been me.”

* * *

Days passed. Letters kept piling on his table, strewn about the room, left unopened. 

He barely left his place by the window, watching as people weaved in and out of Diagon Alley. Lily’s Garden was visible across the street, lively as always. It seemed like ages ago that he had tea with James and Lily there. 

Harry wondered how they were doing.

* * *

He didn’t sleep well at night. 

Harry couldn’t tell if it was from the gnawing guilt, or the gaping feeling of loneliness clawing into his stomach. 

(Or if it was from the lullaby he heard in his head sometimes, the chilling lilt of an inhuman being that was wholly unfamiliar and yet…)

Whatever it was, he couldn’t remember fearing the dark so much before. 

* * *

He woke up to the sound of someone calling his name.

“Harry,” the person said, and their voice sounded vaguely wispy, as though they were calling his name from afar. 

Harry cracked a single eyelid open, instantly cringing away from the blinding light.

“Harry, come on,” another voice, this one distinctly male, “get your arse out of bed.” 

“Mm,” he said incoherently. “Don’t wanna.” 

A sigh. “Just because we don’t have classes today — ” 

“Mate, I’m _starving._ ” 

“Don’t care,” Harry mumbled.

“— doesn’t mean you can sleep through the day —”

“Heard they have cornish pasties today.” 

“— oh honestly, Ronald, can’t you think without your stomach for once?”

“Come on ‘Mione, it’s _cornish pasties._ ”

“Shuddup,” Harry grumbled, and then, when the two continued to bicker, he bolted upright and yelled, “ _Shut up!_ ” 

Ron and Hermione stared back at him. 

“Er —,” he scratched the back of his neck. “...morning.” 

The two burst out into laughter. “Man, if Skeeter got a load of this, it would be in the Prophet tomorrow: _Harry Potter, notorious bedhead or budding Dark Lord? See page 5 for more._ ” 

“Actually,” Hermione said seriously, “I’d wager it would make the frontpage.”

Harry smiled pathetically as the two erupted into snickers again. He felt something wet roll down his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to spare another thought about it. 

“As much as I hate to admit it, mate, you’ve gotta get out of bed. Captain duties are calling.” 

“Captain? Of what?”

Ron continued as if he’d never interrupted. “Gin said she’d drop by to talk about it. Anyways, breakfast?” 

“Oh, I forgot to get my copy of _Magical Moral Perspective!_ ” 

There was a knock on the door. 

Harry looked between his friends, but neither acted like they heard it. They continued to babble about something, but their words seemed to overlap and muddle together as the knock on the door grew more incessant. 

“I… guess I’ll go get that,” Harry told them, but they didn’t seem to hear him. 

Harry got up and stumbled to the door. His feet felt oddly disoriented as he walked, like they couldn’t quite navigate the way. Maybe they had fallen asleep? 

Harry reached the door and grabbed the handle just as the third series of knocks started. “Ginny, I swear —”

“I assure you it’s not _Ginny,_ ” a deep voice drawled, the words washing over him like ice water. 

“Grindelwald,” Harry whispered hoarsely.

“Harry,” the man greeted back, “who were you talking to?” 

Dread pooled in his gut, a sickening realization dawning on him. He whirled around anyways, hoping — _praying_ — he would still see his best friends right there, laughing at him. 

Ron and Hermione were gone. Instead, there was just a single bed in a cold, empty room. 

It was just a memory. 

“No,” Harry said, clutching his head, “no, no, _please._ ”

It wasn’t real. 

“Hermione!” Harry yelled. His voice cracked as a sob tore through his throat. “ _Ron.”_

None of it was real. 

Harry couldn’t muster up the energy to even care as someone grabbed him around the arm, hauling him upright — he hadn’t even noticed his legs give out. He weakly batted at the relentless grip on his arm as it dragged him across the room. Forcibly shoved into the nearest chair, he was quickly restrained by ropes of magic. 

Harry looked up vacantly, barely processing that the Dark Lord was in front of him. Or was he? Maybe Grindelwald was just another ghost, another illusion his mind conjured up to haunt him. 

“You’ve been hallucinating,” Grindelwald stated flatly, cutting to the chase. 

Harry rubbed his bound wrists together, watching curiously as his skin chafed.

“What are you doing?” Grindelwald snapped, his patience fraying. “Stop that.”

“This isn’t real,” Harry muttered to himself. And then, to Grindelwald: “You’re not real.” 

Grindelwald said nothing. 

“ _You’re_ the memory,” Harry said slowly, looking back over his shoulder. “Where are Ron and Hermione?” 

“You remember them.” It wasn’t a question. 

Harry snapped his head back to the man, his head buzzing as static filled his ears. Why was everything so… _loud?_

Grindelwald’s gaze turned frosty. “Explain. _Now._ ”

Harry laughed humorlessly. “You promised you’d get them back. You made me lie to my cousin, spy on him, _betray_ him and I agreed because you _promised me —_ ” 

“Don’t,” Grindelwald snarled, “get cheeky with me, boy.”

“Or what?” Harry asked, smiling with his teeth bared.

It all happened so fast. 

One moment, Harry was sitting before Grindelwald, staring down at the end of the Elder Wand. Harry could see Grindelwald’s face contorted with rage, but he could only focus on the crackling noise in his head and the sensation of _something_ in him rising, simmering, boiling over — 

In the next moment, Grindelwald was kneeling on the floor. 

Grindelwald was _kneeling on the floor_ as he clutched his hand to his chest, breaths coming out ragged and loud in the deathly silent room. And Harry…

Harry was on his feet, head buzzing and fingers shaking as they held the Elder wand. 

Some distant part of him knew _something_ was wrong, that whatever just transpired was beyond anything he could comprehend. But all Harry could think about was Ron and Hermione and Ginny Luna Neville _—_

“ _Give them back._ ”

He didn’t recognize himself: it was his voice, but there was something about the way he said it that seemed… _off._ It was as though some other being had possessed him, had manipulated his tongue to push those words out of his mouth. 

… _The voice of no gender, no pitch yet all pitches at once, indistinguishable yet sounding of every being to have ever had a voice. It was the voice of not one person, yet several. Belonging to many, yet nobody…_

A frost seemed to permeate the room.

No, not seemed; there _was a literal frost_. Creeping along the window sills were delicate, white spiderwebs that bloomed with every second that passed. The very air was saturated with vapor wisps, his every breath crisp as ice.

But Harry didn’t feel cold at all. If anything, he was warm — a rush of buoyancy flowed through his veins, the intoxicating feeling mixing with the spuming, sizzling inferno that had built up in his chest. 

“ _Give them back._ ” 

There it was again, the words coming out stronger than before, so very familiar… 

_He knew that abominable voice, that dissonant sound that could belong to no mere mortal._

The Elder Wand clattered on the floor. 

Harry brought his hands up to his mouth, gasping as the buzzing in his head vanished. Something heavy seemed to drain out of him, sapping the strange energy he felt earlier. He felt…empty. Chilled. 

Harry stared at his hands, and then at the wand still lying on the floor.

 _Grindelwald’s wand,_ he thought in dawning horror. 

He’d threatened the most powerful man in the world. 

He had _disarmed Gellert Grindelwald._

And Grindelwald — 

Grindelwald was staring at him from his place on the floor, expressionless. His pale eyes trailed over Harry’s face, down his forearm, and then to the Elder Wand on ground between them. 

_This is it,_ Harry thought hollowly, _I’m going to die._

He watched as Grindelwald slowly rose to his feet. Harry stumbled back as Grindelwald took measured steps closer, bypassing his wand on the floor.

“You miss them, don’t you?” he murmured, voice gentle and soft. Harry could only stare, speechless, as Grindelwald approached him with his hands out. 

“I can get them back,” he said, “but not alone. Not without your help.” 

“...my help?” Harry asked quietly. 

Grindelwald nodded. “I need that cloak, Harry. I need the Hallows for this to work.”

“James’ cloak.”

“Yes, your cousin’s cloak. No harm will come to him, as long as you comply.” 

Harry wavered, biting the inside of his cheek. “But —” 

“I need you to return to James Potter,” the man said softly. “That’s the only way I can get them back for you.”

Grindelwald’s hand slowly reached out towards him, cold fingers cupping Harry’s chin. “Can you do that for me?” 

Harry stared at him, eyes wide — 

— and nodded.

Grindelwald smiled.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who wrote 50k for this fic last month ;)

Harry walked down the stairs aimlessly. 

It’d been hours since Grindelwald left, and the pub was finally quieting down as people began to take their leave. Left behind were those already dozed off in their seats, cheeks flushed and smiling into the hardwood table. Only a few were awake, sipping on a drink while brooding. 

Like Harry found himself doing. 

“Rough night?” someone asked next to him, and Harry turned his head from where it rested on the palm of his hand.

“You could say that,” he said slowly, observing the stranger absentmindedly. 

He was young, probably similar in age to Harry. He had dark hair and light grey eyes that reminded him uncannily of _someone,_ but Harry couldn’t quite pinpoint who. He didn’t know if he really cared at the moment. With the way his mind was thankfully staying quiet, he doubted it was someone he knew from his ‘past’ life anyways.

“What about you?” Harry followed up, remembering his manners. 

“You could say that,” the boy responded, amusement dancing in his eyes at the look Harry sent him. And then he sighed, something deeper, darker clouding them. “There are… things I don’t want to deal with, at the moment.” 

“Oh.” Harry took a sip of his drink — something Tom the bartender had called ‘The Triple’ — and waved a lazy hand in the air. “I get that. Life’s a bitch.” 

The boy laughed. “A toast to that, then?”

“Cheers,” Harry said, lifting his half-empty glass expectantly. 

“Cheers,” the stranger echoed, and clinked his drink with Harry’s. He really did look familiar. Something about the way he smiled, or maybe it was the eyes? 

Harry shrugged internally, letting the pleasant buzz of alcohol wash the thought away. He didn’t want to _think_ tonight, just… exist. 

_And thank Merlin he was somehow still alive to do just that._

Harry took another sip. The taste really wasn’t all bad — maybe he could ask Tom for another? But as Harry let his eyes stray from the stranger to search for the bartender, the boy spoke up again. 

“So,” he shifted towards him a little, “what has you drinking your troubles away tonight?”

Harry hummed lightly. “I did something bad.”

That earned him an elegantly arched brow. Come to think of it, everything about the wizard just screamed elegance: sharp cheekbones, graceful posture, polished robes. Even his voice was cultured as he prompted Harry with a delicate, “oh?”

Harry paused as his mind caught up with the conversation.

Well, he had a lot of _troubles_ that warranted his self-pitying, he thought privately. 

Running away from his cousin, from his new friends, reminiscing about his old ones, hallucinating them, _thinking_ he’d hallucinated Grindelwald… but then Grindelwald had proved him wrong and he was actually really there and he’d found out about the flashbacks and then — and then — 

…Harry couldn’t bring himself to _care._ Why should he, when he was so close to getting his memories, his _friends_ back? 

“You know what,” Harry said slowly, a smile forming on his lips, “it doesn’t matter.” 

He would go back to Potter Manor and find some way to get that cloak. He would keep James and Lily and everyone else at a distance, so when they inevitably find out…it wouldn’t matter. _Harry_ wouldn’t matter.

The stranger blinked at his response. And then a small smile crept up on his lips, his head tilting as he watched Harry with lidded eyes. “Fair.”

Harry smiled back at him. Who knew sitting down with a complete stranger at a bar in the middle of the night could be so nice?

“So,” Harry said, dragging out the syllable. “Any reason you’re here, joining me?” 

The boy’s smile turned into a grin. “I don’t want to sound like I’m parroting you, but…”

“Doesn’t matter?” Harry offered cheekily.

The boy nodded, eyes glittering with mischief. 

_Now that,_ Harry thought, lips parting slightly, _looks exactly like… like…_

It was on the tip of his tongue, maybe not a name but at least a relative he knew? Maybe it really was someone he’d known ‘before’, but he just…wasn’t in the mental capacity to realize it? 

“Still with me?” 

“Yeah,” Harry said, shaking his head as he brought his glass up to his lips. Swallowing another mouthful, he eyed the other over the rim. And before he could stop himself, he set the drink down and blurted out, “do I know you?” 

“...I don’t believe so,” the stranger said guardedly, “why?”

“You just look really, really familiar,” Harry explained. “Maybe I’m thinking of a relative, then?”

Harry watched as the other’s face shuttered ever so slightly. Odd.

“Possibly,” he conceded at last. And then the boy stiffened — more so than he already had — his eyes catching something over Harry’s shoulder. Harry blinked up at him, then turned to see what had caught the other wizard’s attention.

But before he could move his head, a hand was on his shoulder, turning him back around.

“What's wrong?” Harry asked, acutely aware of the warm grip on his shoulder.

“Nothing, just —” the boy squinted, and again Harry wondered if he was seeing something on the other side of the pub. “I have to go.”

“Oh,” Harry said, and tried not to sound too disappointed. “Okay.” 

“We’ll meet again. I’m sure of it.” 

“Yeah,” Harry said, wondering at the certainty in his voice. 

Then, without another word, the stranger put a handful of coins on the counter and slid off his stool. Harry watched as he slipped out of the door, vanishing into the night. 

_I never got his name,_ Harry realized a second too late.

He turned back to his drink, swirling what remained with disinterest. He tipped the rest of it back without a second thought, mentally applauding himself as he swallowed without gagging.

“Was he that bad?” 

Harry nearly fell off his seat at the voice, barely catching himself as he swiveled around to face whoever had spoken so damn _loudly._

“ _Marlene,_ ” Harry breathed, “what are you-, how did you find me?”

“Well, a little presumptuous of you to assume I’m here for _you,_ ” Marlene Mckinnon teased, slipping into the seat that was now vacant. “Maybe I’m trying to find myself a cute stranger too. Speaking of which, are you avoiding my question?”

“No, er-,” Harry paused, trying to recall what she had asked. “What do you mean by _bad?_ ”

Marlene raised a single brow. “From the looks of it, he was coming onto you and you told him to scram _,_ if you get my meaning.” 

“Um, no, he had to leave suddenly —”

Marlene winced. “Hey, I’m sorry. It’s his loss…”

“It wasn’t-,” Harry’s cheeks burned hotter as he stumbled over his words, “ _It wasn’t like that!”_

“Sure it wasn’t,” Marlene said doubtfully. “Anyways, you got me. I was sent out to find you tonight, so lucky me that Mister Tall, Dark, and Handsome was here to help out a bit. Couldn’t really get a good look at his face, but considering how dazed you look...” 

Harry groaned, covering his face with his hands. 

Marlene could be very, very blunt. 

“I’ve been told,” the witch said with a wink, and Harry groaned again as he realized he’d said that out loud. 

“Er, sorry —”

“None of that now,” Marlene said, waving his apology off. “So. Good to see you, Harry.” 

Right. He shifted in his seat, sobering up a little as it hit him that he was finally confronting someone from the Order. He’d been avoiding them for a while now, running away whenever he saw Lily or James or Marlene lurking around the pub area. 

“It’s good to see you too,” he said hesitantly. 

Marlene gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ve been really worried, you know. Remus told us immediately but we wanted to give you some time alone. But when you didn’t respond to any of Lily’s letters…” 

“I’m sorry, I just-,” Harry swallowed. “I had to leave.” 

“Look,” Marlene swung her legs over to face him completely, “you don’t owe us an explanation. Personally, I don’t care _what_ the reason was. But damnit Harry, whatever happened, it’s clear to all of us that you’re _not okay._ ” 

Harry stared at her. Marlene didn’t know about what had happened with Grindelwald, or any of his business with Grindelwald for that matter — what was she talking about?

“I’m fine, really. I stayed in my room for the most part, and even if I ran into Grindelwald’s men, it’s not like they could do anything anyways.” 

_Only Grindelwald himself,_ Harry thought to himself bitterly. 

“That’s-,” Marlene shook her head. “Harry, that’s _not_ what I meant.”

“Then what…?” 

She gave him a flat look. “You haven’t been sleeping or eating, have you?” 

“Not much, no, but it’s only been a few days —”

“A week,” Marlene interrupted quietly. “It’s been over a week.”

“...oh.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as Harry processed her words. 

A week. A whole _week_ had passed since he left the manor. How had so much time passed when he’d practically done nothing the entire time? Harry could barely recall what he did, other than stare out the window and watch everyone else’s lives move on. How had he missed an entire week without realizing? 

Had he been _that_ far gone, as to lose track of _days_ passing? 

Harry was pulled from his thoughts when Marlene broke the silence. “Riddle told me, by the way. About your memories.” 

“What about them?” Harry asked, racking his brain to remember what _Riddle_ knew that Marlene didn’t. 

“How you’ve been suppressing them. You… you spent most of the week doing just that, haven’t you?” 

_Damn you, Riddle._

Harry fiddled with his glass. “Well, yes, but —”

“You’re going to ruin yourself,” Marlene said bluntly, “and if you think the rest of us are just going to _watch_ you do it, you’re sorely mistaken.” 

Harry looked up at her, his chest warming at her words. And then it plummeted in the next instance, freezing over as he remembered his earlier resolve.

“I don’t need your help,” Harry said icily. “I don’t need _any_ of your help.” 

He couldn’t keep letting them get involved with him. He would go back to the manor and find a way to get James’ cloak, in as little time as he could, and then _stay away._

Marlene struggled to find the right words. “Harry…”

He cut her off, quiet but determined: “I know it’s selfish of me, but I would really appreciate it if you all just left me alone. Sirius is right —,” Marlene made a noise of protest, but Harry kept going, “— you shouldn’t trust me so easily. I still want to help with Order business, but I think it’s best if you, _all_ of you, keep me at a distance.” 

“What?” Marlene asked, confusion furrowing her brows. “You want us to — but Harry, _why?_ ” 

He looked away from her. “I need- I need to sort myself out. It’s been rough, you know, with my amnesia and everything. Those flashbacks. They…” 

He swallowed, shaking his head. “I just need space.” 

Marlene sat still in her seat. Her eyes dropped to where Harry’s hand clenched around his empty cup, then drifted back up again. Finally, she asked, “that’s what you truly want?”

Harry nodded. 

“Okay,” Marlene said softly. “Okay. But let me say one thing.” 

She looked straight at him, unwavering. “I may not know exactly what’s going on with you or why you left that night. I don’t know if it was Sirius or if you really did need some time. I don’t care if you no longer want anything to do with me or Lily or James or the entire Order.”

“But don’t think that just because _you_ want us to stay away, that we won’t keep looking out for you. I won’t bother you if you don’t want me to, but if you ever need help, you can always come to me. Mind-related or not.” 

Harry stared at her. “…why? Why do you care?”

_Why, when I’ve only been a bother?_

“Because, Harry, you’re my friend.” 

* * *

Marlene had left the Leaky shortly after that, promising him she would tell Lily and James that he needed his space. He could see that it made her unhappy to promise such a thing, but he was grateful for it. 

After she left, Tom the bartender had slipped him a drink that, to his disappointment, was not another ‘Triple’.

 _“A draught-infused drink,”_ Tom had told him. “ _Get some rest, son.”_

He hated that someone had so easily picked up on his lack of sleep, but was thankful for it after the fact. He’d been able to sleep soundly for the first time in a long time. 

_A week,_ he reminded himself glumly.

Now that he was awake, his head felt so much clearer, _sharper._ It was the same way his eyesight was after he put on his glasses, but with his mind. Before, every thought felt foggy and unclear. Now… 

Now, he wanted to kick himself for not seeing what was right in front of him. 

_There’s no way Grindelwald isn’t_ pissed _about getting disarmed._

So why hadn’t he punished Harry? As much as he hated to admit it, he was entirely vulnerable that night. Whatever fluke of accidental magic that had Harry disarming Grindelwald couldn't have _scared_ the lord or anything, right? So why hadn't he tortured Harry, and then threatened him to get the cloak? Instead of… whatever the hell _that_ was. 

_“Can you do that for me?”_

Harry shook his head, pacing across the room. Whatever game Grindelwald was playing, it would be foolish of Harry to hand the cloak over just like that. He wasn’t naive enough to think that Grindelwald would just return his memories so simply, let alone let him go afterwards. 

He needed a plan, some sort of blackmail… 

Hedwig cooed from her place by the window, ruffling her wings when she noticed Harry’s attention on her. He smiled at her, making his way over. “Now you’re awake, huh?”

She chirped happily. He laughed and tossed her a treat, grinning down at her as she swallowed it whole. 

“At least savor it, damnit,” he said playfully, scratching her under her feathers. 

His smile slipped off as he watched Hedwig groom herself.

It was strange that she seemed much livelier now. He’d thought that things had only changed for him: head clearer, mind focused, not seeing or hearing things that weren’t there… 

But there were inexplicable things that couldn’t be attributed to his good night of sleep.

It was like a switch had been flipped in the entire room. It wasn’t as cold anymore, the lights shone just a little brighter, and Hedwig was much more animated. Everything felt _normal,_ and he didn’t feel the strange compulsion to just… 

Watch the world move on, life seeming to freeze just for him.

 _And,_ a vicious voice whispered in his mind, one Harry desperately didn’t want to listen to. _Don’t forget you didn’t disarm just any wand. It was the Elder Wand, a_ Deathly Hallow — 

There was a knock on his door, a steady drum against the wood.

Harry crossed the room instantly, jumping at the chance to distract himself from the turn his thoughts had taken. He took a moment to ready himself before reaching for the doorknob, though he wasn’t too concerned — Marlene had told him she would ask the Order not to send James or Lily to fetch him.

Hesitating for only a second longer, Harry swung the door open. 

“Professor McGonagall,” Harry said, recognizing the witch with her typical bun and reading glasses. 

… _professor?_

“Um,” Harry blurted out, knowing the same thought was no doubt crossing the other’s mind.

“While I haven’t had the honor to teach you, Mr. Potter, you’re more than welcome to call me as such. However, just McGonagall is fine.” 

“Right. Uh,” Harry looked over his shoulder, “I think I’ve packed everything.” 

Neither mentioned how little Harry had in belongings. 

“Follow me,” McGonagall ordered, swiftly turning around and striding down the hall. Harry quickly followed her steps.

“I hope you’ll understand, Potter, that we’ll have to take precautions when introducing you back to the Order,” McGonagall started, slowing down so they were side by side.

“...I understand,” Harry said, trying not to think about what everyone else must think of him now. 

“There’s a meeting tomorrow I’d like for you to attend. However… _some_ members of the Order are more distrustful of newcomers than others, I’m sure you’ve found out.” At Harry’s nod, she continued. “While most were understanding of your need for space, there are some who have started to question your loyalties.” 

“With the input of the more concerned members of the group, we came to a decision that if you, Mr. Potter, signed a contract at your arrival, then you would be allowed to attend our meetings and training sessions.”

That was… a lot milder than he’d been expecting, but he wasn’t one to question it.

“Wait,” Harry said, a thought occurring to him, “aren’t contracts… don’t they only work on…?” Harry lifted his wrist, gesturing to the lack of a silver bracelet. 

“No, no,” McGonagall said quickly, “this is not a state-mandated contract. Rather, you’ll sign an informal agreement that _we_ have written up — magically binding, and the jinx has been cast on the parchment itself. If you choose to sign, and you violate the terms stated on the contract, the jinx will activate.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He tried not to flinch when Hermione’s voice sounded from over his shoulder — _“because I put a jinx on that piece of parchment we all signed”_ — but didn’t push it away like he’d become used to doing. He knew better now.

Harry caught McGonagall glancing at him. “Er, thank you. For explaining.” 

“You’re welcome, Potter,” she said. “The contract should be ready by the time we arrive at the manor.” 

Harry nodded absentmindedly, wondering what the terms would entail. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were on the restrictive side. Sirius was vocal enough about his suspicion, and that was _before_ Harry had abruptly left. 

But Harry couldn’t really bring himself to care that his loyalties were being doubted. Notwithstanding the fact that they were _right_ to doubt him in the first place, but also because it would make things easier for him if they wanted nothing to do with him. 

He’d attend the meetings and trainings as expected, and in his free time, find that damned cloak and get the hell out of there. 

McGonagall stopped in front of the Leaky’s floo network, exchanging pleasantries with Tom the barman, who handed over a small bag of floo powder. She then passed Harry his portion, gesturing for him to go first. 

Harry stepped into the fire pit, biting his lip as he looked back at McGonagall. She gave him a curt nod, her stern face unwavering. “I’ll see you over there.” 

Harry nodded, and then shouted: “Potter Manor!” 

It was, predictably, as awful as the first time around. While he’d somehow miraculously landed on his feet, he’d still inhaled an unfortunate amount of ash, which threw him into a coughing fit yet again. 

McGonagall, bless her soul, pretended not to see his teary eyes while wordlessly handing him a glass of water. 

He accepted it gratefully, not meeting her gaze. 

“This way,” McGonagall said, leading him down a familiar hall. But Harry soon lost track of where they were though, walking down passageways he’d never been through before. 

“Here,” McGonagall said at last, opening a door engraved with the Potter emblem. Harry followed her through, marvelling at the sheer size of the door itself — and the room inside was proportionally as large. 

So engrossed in observing the sunlit room, he missed McGonagall’s greeting to another person in the room. But he most definitely did not miss the response back, and glared at the tall figure leaning against one of the many tables.

“Minerva, Harry,” Tom Riddle said pleasantly, nodding to them, “lovely to see you both.”

“You as well,” McGonagall replied, and Harry let out a small noise of agreement. He still had manners, afterall. 

He tried not to scowl at Riddle’s knowing smirk. 

“I’ve just finished the contract,” Riddle said, turning around to shuffle some papers beside him.

“This is where the Order holds meetings,” McGonagall informed Harry quietly, as they made their way over to where Riddle was standing. “You’ll be in here tomorrow.” 

Harry nodded, but couldn’t help his attention wandering to where Riddle had held up a single piece of parchment.

“Would you like to look it over?” Riddle asked McGonagall, holding out what Harry guessed was the contract. 

McGonagall shook her head. “I trust you stuck by what we outlined with the group.” 

“Of course,” Riddle said smoothly, and then finally turned to face Harry. “Here you are, Harry.” 

“Thanks,” Harry said stiffly, looking down to quickly scan the elegant cursive written on the parchment. 

_Of course he has pompous handwriting,_ Harry thought snidely. 

His ire was soon forgotten, however, as he focused on the words. 

It was shorter than he thought, but rigid in its wording. There wouldn’t be any loopholes out of this one — not that he needed to worry about that anymore. He was pretty sure Grindelwald’s focus for him had changed just to getting James’ cloak. Either way, he wasn’t planning to write to the lord and confirm anytime soon.

_…and disclosure of any confidential information by Harry Potter shall be deemed as such by the Order of the Phoenix, hereby represented by Tom Riddle Junior. If Harry Potter is found liable for breach of this Agreement, the Trace will be activated upon his person. The charm, which detects any and all magical activity performed in the target’s vicinity, will alert Tom Riddle Junior to Harry Potter’s location._

“The Trace… in case I run for it?” Harry asked.

McGonagall nodded. “Yes. If you are found guilty of violating the contract, you _will_ be tracked down and interrogated, Mr. Potter. This is the only way the Order will permit you to stay.”

He mulled over her words, and that of the document. It was risky; what if Grindelwald changed his mind and wanted him to keep reporting on James? He was already under too much suspicion, and now, if he was caught… 

He wouldn’t be able to run. 

He glanced over at Riddle, who was looking at him indifferently. But Harry knew what lurked underneath. He’d essentially be tied to Riddle if he was ever caught. 

_If._

“Okay,” Harry said finally, firmly. “I’ll sign it.” 

McGonagall eyed him approvingly, handing him a self-inking quill. Harry scrawled his name at the bottom of the parchment, trying not to feel so… bound. First Grindelwald, and now Riddle. At least he somewhat had a choice with this contract, and it wouldn’t matter as long as he wasn’t caught.

Grindelwald, on the other hand, didn’t exactly give him much of a choice, had he? 

Harry wordlessly handed the contract back to McGonagall, watching as she confirmed his signature before passing it onto Riddle. Riddle took one glance at it, and then placed it down on the table.

“Now,” McGonagall said, addressing both of them. “I’m afraid I must take my leave. I’ll expect to see you both for tomorrow’s meeting. Riddle, if you don’t mind filling Harry in?” 

“Not at all,” Riddle assured her. “Take care, Minerva.” 

McGonagall nodded, then strided out of the room. 

It was only then that Harry realized he’d been left alone with _Riddle,_ of all people. When he didn’t hear a comment from the other, Harry sneaked a look in Riddle’s direction, wondering what was keeping him so quiet. 

The man was staring down at the table, eyeing the contract. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, suddenly worried that there’d been a mistake. 

“It’s atrocious,” Riddle said slowly, head still down. 

“What? What is?”

Riddle finally looked up, and Harry was taken aback by how affronted he looked. 

“Your handwriting,” Riddle clarified, and Harry gaped at him. He didn’t know so much _revulsion_ could be packed in such a harmless word. 

“Are you screwing with me right now?” 

“I’d like to ask you the same,” Riddle said, bringing the parchment up to Harry’s face. “What alphabet is this supposed to be?” 

“Piss off,” Harry said hotly, “just because _you_ write in calligraphy like the snobbish elitist you are —”

Riddle held up his wrist, gesturing to his silver bracelet. “Elitist?”

“Well,” Harry muttered petulantly, “we’re both contracted now.” 

Guilt flickered in him as soon as he said it, knowing what Riddle went through was much worse than Harry’s simple contract.

 _Except I’m also marked by Grindelwald,_ Harry thought sullenly. He resisted the urge to scratch at his forearm, at the tattoo that he'd successfully glamoured this morning. 

“Yes, I suppose,” Riddle said slowly, putting the contract back down. “Welcome back to the Order. I hope your time away has…cleared your head.”

Harry narrowed his eyes.

“You told Marlene,” he remembered suddenly. “About how I’ve been suppressing my memories. Why?” 

Riddle met his gaze, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Let’s say I was concerned for a friend.” 

“Bullshit,” Harry hissed. “You and I both know you only care because I’ve _Seen_ straight through you. Because I know you’re not the saint everyone here seems to think you are.” 

“Also,” Harry said before Riddle could get a word in, “we are _not_ friends.”

“You wound me,” Riddle said, smiling sharply. “And here I was, thinking we were well beyond acquaintances by now.” 

“Funny, I was thinking the exact opposite.” 

“My, such hostility.” Riddle placed a mocking hand on his chest. “Dare I say it’s been pent up from your week in solitude?” 

“Fuck you, you have _no idea_ —,” Harry took a calming breath, steeling himself despite the fury he felt at the derisive comment. “Just answer the question, Riddle.”

Riddle paused at that, his smile falling flat. Then, in a neutral tone: “an answer for an answer.”

“What?”

“It’s only fair. I’ll answer your question, but only if you answer one of mine.” 

Harry considered it, narrowing his eyes as he tried to search for deception. But Riddle’s face was infuriatingly blank.

“Okay.” Harry pulled out a chair, dropping into it. “But you have to ask the question _before_ either of us answer.” 

Riddle sat down next to him, his gaze never leaving Harry’s. “You have yourself a deal.”

Harry gritted his teeth as Riddle continued to just _look_ at him, seemingly content to sit there and watch him. Trying to unnerve him, probably. 

“So. The question,” Harry said sharply, unwilling to play along. “What is it?”

“Impatient, are we?” Riddle taunted, but Harry could see the glimmer of interest in his eyes. He could act like he had the upper ground all he wanted, but Harry knew Riddle was just as invested in this _game_ between them.

“You already know what I want,” Riddle said finally. “I want to know what you Saw that day you first met me.” 

Harry sucked in a breath. He should have expected that, but for some reason, he’d thought Riddle would ask about why he had left the manor. 

Why was Riddle so set on his visions? Was it really that important to him?

“Okay,” Harry said slowly, reluctantly. “Deal.” 

Riddle considered him, before taking the lead. “I presume you’ve figured out that suppressing your memories will only deteriorate your mind. I only wished to prompt the mind healer to check up on a friend, that’s all.” 

“You wanted me back at Potter Manor,” Harry surmised, a little miffed that Riddle was still putting up a front. “Why didn’t you come find me yourself? Knowing you, you wouldn’t have given me the courtesy of privacy in my own room.”

“And what would you have done, Harry, if I had politely asked you to return?” 

Harry considered that for all but one second.

“Told you to fuck off,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Precisely.”

 _And probably try to hurt him,_ Harry thought privately, remembering his paranoia and skittishness while at the Leaky. 

He shuddered, trying to snap himself out of those thoughts. He needed to stop thinking about it, about everything that happened. It was in the past, and whatever transpired _didn’t matter._

That’s what he had told the mysterious stranger at the bar, and damn him if he’d forget _that._

Riddle cleared his throat, chin resting on his hand with a contemplative expression. Harry stopped short, realizing it was his turn to hold up his part of the bargain. Right. Riddle wanted to know about Harry’s vision he’d had of him.

But how to describe what he’d Seen? Because as overwhelmed as he was that day, going through memory after memory, one thing that stuck out to him even now were — 

“Red eyes.” 

Riddle cocked his head to the side, a neutral expression on his face despite the uninformative answer. “Pardon me?”

Harry started straight into his dark irises, not a trace of livid scarlet. 

“The… _thing_ I Saw when I met you,” he said, voice softer, “it was hideous. Bone-white skin, skeletal figure. Serpentine, not quite human. And it had red eyes.” 

For a long while, Riddle said nothing. His face was completely blank. And then: “Interesting.”

Harry stared at him. “That’s it? No questions?”

“Unless there’s more to tell?” 

“Er —,” Harry stuttered, feeling like he’d lost his footing. “No?” 

Why was Riddle being so… complacent? He’d expected the man to dig for more information, to demand an answer that wasn’t so vague. Because Harry had to admit, he would be confused if he were in Riddle’s position. 

Had Riddle truly gleaned something out of that?

“How about another round?” Riddle cut in, leaning forward in his seat.

Harry shifted, knowing in his gut that he should stop this, put a foot down before being dragged into whatever this was. But he couldn’t quite stifle his own burning curiosity, to get answers when he was so unfairly deprived of them.

“Why are you posing as your own son?” Harry asked before he could stop himself.

Riddle eyes lit up, a small smile quirking at his lips. Harry refused to read too much into it, waiting impatiently for Riddle to come up with his own question. 

“What would happen if I touched your scar?” Riddle finally countered, voice low.

“What-,” Harry reeled back, “you- you _know_ I don’t have the answer to that. We — you’ve never —” 

Riddle hummed. “We can find out.”

“No. No deal,” Harry snapped, jumping out of his seat. He had a bad feeling about the scar. And whatever had made Riddle so enthralled with it…

He didn’t like it. Not one bit. 

“I’m done here,” he told Riddle, who looked unbothered despite Harry’s refusal to cooperate. “I’m done playing.” 

“Very well,” Riddle said, leaning back against his seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry didn’t deign that with a response. Instead, he turned on his feet and headed back out where McGonagall had left earlier. 

“And Harry,” Riddle called after him, as Harry’s pace quickened. “Do be careful when you leave the manor next time.” 

Harry’s steps faltered. 

“He’s watching you.”


	13. Chapter 13

_“He’s watching you.”_

The words rung in his head, following him out the door and all the way back to his own room. They stayed there, no matter how hard he tried to dispel them as night turned to day once more. 

_“He’s watching you.”_

Riddle couldn’t mean Grindelwald himself… right? 

Not that Harry didn’t expect Grindelwald to have his followers watch him, but how would _Riddle_ know that? 

...Besides, who else could he possibly mean? Someone from the Order? 

_Maybe,_ Harry thought dubiously, _but that wouldn’t exactly be a surprise, would it?_

After the stunt he pulled last week, Harry could guess at least half the Order, if not more, were suspicious of him. So if Riddle was talking about Grindelwald… 

_Does he work for Grindelwald?_

No. That would be — ludicrous. No matter Harry’s misforgivings on Riddle, that didn’t mean Riddle would lie and betray the Order… right?

“He’s too egotistical to bow to another person anyways,” Harry muttered under his breath. Hedwig squawked in agreement from where she was perched on his bedpost. 

So then maybe, _maybe_ Riddle just happened to know Grindelwald was watching him. That… wasn’t entirely implausible, he supposed. Riddle might’ve witnessed Grindelwald’s men following him. 

Then why not just _tell_ him that? Why go to such lengths to be so — so — 

“ _Infuriating,_ ” Harry hissed. Hedwig squawked again, but unlike last time, her pitch was much lower. Almost uncertain. 

“What? You disagree?” Harry shot her a glare, daring the owl to actually _back_ Tom Riddle. 

His glare turned into a look of confusion as she seemed to cower from him, her feathers spiking along her back. 

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked her, eyeing her warily. She made a strange noise, a cross between a screech and almost a _hiss,_ batting her wings at him. Harry raised both his hands up defensively, but she paid no mind and continued to barrage him with feathers. 

With a final ear-splitting screech, Hedwig flew into the air and left through the open window, disappearing in the blink of an eye. 

_What the hell?_

Before Harry could ponder on her odd behavior, he was distracted by a shimmering feline that pranced into his room, silver trailing its path.

The patronus weaved between his legs, nudging his shin and relaying its message: “Meeting in five, Mr. Potter. Follow me.” 

The cat jumped up on his bed and then stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes. Even without the distinct voice that came from it just now, Harry could tell it who it was just from its demeanor. Minerva McGonagall had the stealthy grace and regal posture of a cat, afterall. 

“Just a second,” he told the patronus, grabbing his holly wand off his desk. He considered the half-eaten apple he’d snatched from the kitchen last night, before looking away.

His stomach twisted. But it wasn’t unbearable. 

He sheathed his wand, and turned back to the patronus — which had already leapt down from the bed and was patiently waiting for him by the door. The cat looked up from where it had been licking its paw, and with a quiet purr, got back on all fours.

Harry followed it as it walked down the hall, tail swishing from side to side. 

At last, they reached a familiar hallway, one Harry remembered walking through just the other day. There was a familiar figure standing at the end of the hallway. 

“Ready, Mr. Potter?” 

McGonagall was waiting for him right outside the room they were in yesterday. By now, most of the members attending the meeting were already inside. 

“Yeah,” Harry said, swallowing. 

“I presume Mr. Riddle has informed you of everything you need to know?”

“Er,” Harry stuttered. “...Yes.” 

They had completely forgotten to discuss the actual meeting — or at least _Harry_ forgot all about it. Did Riddle purposefully not bring it up? 

McGonagall looked at him with her brows raised, but said nothing. Instead, she opened the door with a wave of her hand, and gestured for him to walk with her. 

Together, they stepped through the door. The first thing Harry noticed was how empty the room was; he estimated a headcount of only about twenty or so people. “Has everyone not arrived yet?”

“This is everyone who can attend the meetings.” At Harry’s confused look, she explained, “the identification tags would register those with bracelets to be in the same vicinity. Barring those who already live in the manor, of course.” 

“So none of the others can attend?” Harry asked, aghast.

McGonagall pursed her lips. “Some choose to take the risk, depending on how often they will be out in public.”

“Right,” Harry was unpleasantly reminded of Rosier, and how he had targeted Lily all that time ago. “I…I forgot about the spot-checks.” 

“It is easy to forget a privilege when it’s always been yours,” McGonagall said quietly. “Come. The meeting will start soon.”

Harry followed her to the center of the room, where two chairs were pulled out, separate from any of the tables. 

“This is where I will be sitting to conduct the meeting,” McGonagall explained, gesturing to the chairs. “Alastor, as our training leader, will be with me in the front.”

Harry nodded. “So, where should I sit?” he asked. But when he turned to face her, McGonagall had already been swept into conversation by a burly looking man — _Moody,_ Harry recognized belatedly. 

Unwilling to disrupt their hushed conversation, Harry bit his inner cheek and surveyed the room.

There were six tables total, each with four or five members. He wasn’t sure if the teams were randomized or if they were ranked in some way, but surely McGonagall would’ve said something if he _had_ to sit with a certain team?

 _Curse you, Riddle,_ Harry thought angrily, grimacing as more and more people in the room took notice of him. 

Distinctly aware of the attention, Harry squared his shoulders and walked around to the back of the room. He scanned the tables once more and immediately ruled out the ones where James and Lily were seated, easily picking out the bird-nest and amber hair. The group with Sirius and Marlene was another he didn’t consider, as was the one with Riddle. 

Which left two more. 

After observing the distrustful glances from some of the members in one of the groups, Harry started walking towards the one on the farthest left. He sat down stiffly, trying not to notice the way the entire room seemed to watch him do so. 

“Hello,” someone said on his right, “glad you picked our humble team, Harry.” 

“Hi, um,” Harry said eloquently, racking his brain to recall who he was talking to.

“That’s Fabian,” someone on his left said, “and I’m Gideon.”

“Right! You’re the Prewett twins,” Harry exclaimed, wanting to bang his head against the table. “Er-, sorry.”

“No worries,” Fabian said, looking amused. “We didn’t expect you to remember all of us in one day, y’know.” 

Harry smiled at him uncertainly.

“I’m Emmeline,” a voice cut in, and Harry turned to face the young witch who piped up from across the table. “Emmeline Vance.”

The man sitting next to her cleared his throat. “Edgar Bones.”

Harry made a small _‘ah’_ noise, pretending to realize who they were because… 

“And I’m Benjy Fenwick.”

...he had no bloody idea. 

“Nice to meet you all,” Harry said after a lengthy pause. “Again.”

Fabian patted him on the back, excitedly launching back into whatever they were talking about before Harry had interrupted. Something about their baby nephews’ first words and how rowdy they were beginning to get. 

Harry tuned out the conversation for the most part, only interjecting with the occasional hum or nod of agreement with the Prewetts; it was a little hard to entirely remove himself from their conversation when he was sandwiched between the two of them afterall. 

Luckily, he didn’t have to endure it for long. 

“Quiet,” McGonagall said with a sonorous charm, the tip of her wand glowing at its place by her throat. A hush fell over the group, people shifting to get comfortable in their seats as they looked to the front of the room. “Thank you. We will now commence the meeting.”

The last of the chatter died down. 

McGonagall gave a nod of approval. “As we discussed in the last meeting, today’s focus will be on Grindelwald’s movements in America, the upcoming training session, and possibilities of a third player.” 

The room was dead silent, the mood turning grave. Harry, who had decidedly _not_ been at the last meeting, was horribly confused. 

“First, America.” At this, McGonagall pointed her wand away from her throat, and towards the center of the room. 

A large, shimmering outline of the world appeared gradually, much to Harry’s awe. It then zoned in on the familiar shape of Great Britain, and Harry wondered at the way it was divided into red, orange, yellow, and green areas. 

“Red is for known bases of Grindelwald’s,” Fabian whispered quietly. Harry shot him a grateful look, leaning in to hear the man properly. “Orange for Muggle Sectors, and yellow for neutral zones. Green shows our bases.”

Harry nodded, scrutinizing the map in a new way. There was a disheartening amount of red on there. 

The map then zoned out, spanning across the ocean. 

“From our allies in the States, we’ve been informed of Grindelwald’s growing presence across the magical communities; unfortunately, his spread is as equally alarming in muggle areas as well…”

Harry found that the rest of what McGonagall said went completely over his head. He wanted to blame Riddle for feeling so lost, but at the same time, Harry had a sinking feeling he would still be confused even if Riddle had explained everything.

This was all so much bigger than him, so much _more_ than he ever imagined. How did Harry ever think he could help? He, an amnesiac teenager with nothing to his name? It was laughable. 

Harry could barely focus on any of what McGonagall was saying, the hollow feeling in his stomach only expanding with every minute that passed. He wanted it to be over. 

“Now, for training.” McGonagall finally said, and waved the map away with a flick of her wand. “Alastor, if you would please…”

Alastor Moody stepped up from his place behind McGonagall, his large jacket emphasizing his presence at the head of the room. 

“Stand up!” Moody barked, and suddenly all Harry could hear was chairs scraping back as every single person in the room shot up from their seats. 

And then _he_ was roughly pulled up from his seat, somebody hoisting him up with the rest of the crowd. Somehow, Harry managed to contain his yelp and only let out a small exhale of surprise. 

“Thanks,” he whispered to Gideon, realizing the other had saved him from being singled out by Moody. Gideon nodded but didn’t turn to face Harry completely, keeping his attention to the front of the room.

Harry understood why; Moody made a terrifying sight. 

Despite looking to be in his late twenties or early thirties, the sheer _aura_ emanating from the man was enough to make every single Order member give him their undivided attention.

That, and McGonagall’s ever-present stern eyes watching everything from behind the man. 

“Good,” Moody shouted, without a sonorous charm, “but not good enough.” 

“Out there is a _battlefield,_ not dueling practice where you bow to your partner and take turns trading spells. Speed is what helps you dodge a curse and avoid a debilitating injury. To avoid _death._ Do you understand?” 

Nobody said a word. 

“Tomorrow, we will be doing the agility exercise in teams again.” Moody paced to one side of the room. “Teams one through three, you’ll be in the ballroom. Teams four through six, you’ll be outside in the field.” 

_Field,_ Fabian mouthed to him. Harry nodded with wide eyes, mentally cataloguing to never get on Moody’s bad side.

“Thank you, Alastar,” McGonagall interjected, sweeping back to the front. “You may all be seated.” 

They all sat, and Harry suppressed a sigh of relief. He felt less exposed sitting down, without Moody’s mistrustful gaze flickering to him every so often. 

“Now, for our final discussion.” McGonagall herself sat down, though her stiff posture didn’t slacken in the slightest.

“Last meeting, I briefly mentioned the possibility of an organization other than the Order who may be working against Grindelwald.” At this, McGonagall raised a single hand, quieting the murmurs of unrest that rose among the crowd. “Many of you came to me with your concerns already, and thus I have decided to divulge what we know so far.” 

“I’d like for all of you to keep in mind that this information is potentially unfounded. There is too much we don’t know, which is why we chose to keep this from you all last meeting. However, I have decided it would be most beneficial to disclose everything known so far, in case any of you may have certain connections — familial or not — that would help us uncover the truth.” 

McGonagall crossed her legs, her eyes hard as she looked around the room gravely. “There are speculations of a far more _pureblooded_ resistance assembling against Grindelwald. Presumably, their ideologies clash with Grindelwald’s in that they prefer their own British autonomy. It is a well-known fact that our ministry is entirely corrupt, with Grindelwald and his men pulling all the strings.” 

“But there is not enough information for us to conclude how organized this resistance is, or if there even _is_ a certain leader who is gathering these people together. It is entirely possible that this ‘other group’ may only consist of a few families who are gathering together to merely discuss Grindelwald’s fall. On the other hand, it is also a possibility that they are just as structured as the Order of the Phoenix.” 

“Then what is the point of telling us all this?” someone questioned hotly. 

“Quiet,” Moody snapped from behind McGonagall. 

But even the threat of Moody’s wrath was dimmed when _everyone_ began to talk among themselves, loud grumblings filling the room. 

“This is bullshit —”

“ — where did she even hear — ”

“ — bet it’s just the Malfoys whining —” 

McGonagall stood up. 

Silence descended upon the crowd, the buzz of chatter and loud complaints quieting swiftly. 

“Yes, they may just be rumors,” McGonagall said. “Yes, our sources are unreliable. Yes, we do not know as much as we should to be sharing it with you all.”

“But,” she continued, her voice hard, “in the small event that there _is_ another resistance, it would be foolish of us to be unprepared. We cannot view them as our allies, not yet, possibly not ever. But if there is even the smallest sliver that we could help one another, or even be better informed of their movements, that is an advantage to the Order.” 

“Too many of us have died already — too many, when Grindelwald hasn’t even acknowledged our existence, hasn’t even deemed us as enough of a threat. Too many have died from just altercations with his patrolling men; imagine what a _war_ would do to us in this state.”

“It would do well to keep that in mind as we go forth,” she continued after a beat. “We are not risking our lives only to lose them. We are here to _more_ than survive, to create a better world without Grindelwald and his backward ideologies.”

Her words seemed to echo in the silence. 

Nobody moved even after McGonagall sat down, everyone looking at her with wide eyes and bated breaths. The room was completely still long after she finished, until Moody took the lead and uttered: “you’re all dismissed.” 

“Damn,” Fabian whistled under his breath, “that was… something.”

“Are meetings usually like this?” Harry asked in a hushed voice.

“No, no. That was uh, pretty intense,” Emmeline said. 

Someone across from Harry — _was it Edward? Edmund?_ — scooted out of his seat, brushing off the front of his robes. “Well, I’m off. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“See you,” everyone echoed, before following his example and getting up from their own seats. 

“Er,” Harry said, turning to Emmeline. “Where exactly are the fields?”

“Oh! Right, I forgot… er, have you been to the kitchens before?” At Harry’s nod, she continued: “so you go there, and then take the door next to the grandfather clock — keep going down that hall, past the ballroom, and then you’ll walk through the outdoor patio and the gardens.”

“You should be able to see the fields by then,” Fabian said. “It’s hard to miss.”

Emmeline nodded. “Yeah, and honestly, you’ll probably bump into someone before then anyways.” 

Harry thanked them, lingering only a little longer as they said their goodbyes. He liked them all well enough — but that was the issue, wasn’t it? Even if he managed to stay away from Lily and James and Marlene, it’d be pointless if he let himself get attached to another group. 

So Harry fell back as the four of them walked out of the room together, their voices drifting out as they moved further ahead of him.

He felt a pang of longing in his chest as Fabian slung an arm over his brother’s shoulder, his loud laughter the last thing Harry heard before they all left the room. 

And then Harry’s gaze caught James standing across the room, the ache in his chest growing as he watched him smile at something Sirius said. But the easy smile slipped off of James' face when he looked straight up at Harry, hazel eyes clouding over. 

Harry turned away from him, ignoring the way James’ mouth had opened to call out to him. 

He walked out the room and didn't look back.

* * *

The next day, Harry woke up to a quiet morning.

He was looking forward to doing something other than just sitting there and listening — especially with the way he couldn’t follow a single thing they discussed yesterday. 

But he couldn’t help the slight apprehension mixing with the anticipation, rolling his holly wand between his fingers. He felt much better since the… _incident_ at the Leaky, but whatever transpired between him and Grindelwald… what if it happened during the training? 

“I’m in control,” Harry assured himself. Silence met his ponderings. 

It was then that Harry realized why the room felt so quiet; Hedwig hadn’t returned since she left yesterday. 

Harry frowned as he eyed the open window — she should’ve easily been able to come back. Was she injured? 

… or was she still scared of him? 

Harry shook his head, sheathing his wand and heading out the door. Whatever had caused his feathered companion to leave so abruptly, surely it wasn’t anything to worry about. He had more important things to worry about, like this training session. 

Harry made his way down to the kitchens, quickly finding the door beside the grandfather clock as Emmeline had instructed.

He trudged along the hallway which extended farther than he could see, passing door after door that all looked the same. 

That is, until a large glass door appeared on his left — the ballroom, he surmised, considering the chatter he could hear coming from inside. He paused in his steps, peering through the curtains of the door. 

He could vaguely make out a few figures scattered across the large room, the expansive space charmed to be empty of any obstacles. There was the occasional flash of light as some people traded spells before the training officially started, though Harry couldn’t quite make out who they were.

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

Harry whipped his head to the side, his heart leaping in his throat. 

Leaning against the wall was Sirius, his face blank as he regarded Harry calmly. His arms were crossed, one leg bent — the epitome of casual composure. But Harry could see the rigid lines in his posture, betraying the tension all but oozing from the other.

Harry backed away from the door quickly, moving to the opposite wall as Sirius. “I- I was just… watching.” 

_Well that didn’t sound suspicious at all._

Sirius clearly had the same thought, going by the unimpressed look on his face. “Watching?” 

“Er…” How did he respond to that? He was just _curious,_ damnit. “Yes.”

Sirius slowly unfolded his arms, and Harry immediately zoned in on the hand loosely gripping a jet-black wand. 

He really didn’t need any more trouble. “Look, Sirius — ”

Harry stopped when a dark look passed over Sirius’ face, taking several steps back as the other boy pushed off the wall he had been leaning against.

“Don’t call me that,” Sirius spat, advancing on him. “It’s _Black_ to you.” 

“...Okay.” Harry’s back hit the wall, his palms flat against it. “Okay.” 

Sirius was inches away from him, so close that Harry could see the raw fury in his grey eyes.

 _Why,_ Harry wanted to scream at him, _why do you hate me so much?_

And though Harry hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even made a sound, Sirius seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to do here, or whatever spell you’ve got everyone under, but I’m onto you _Potter._ Stay away from James, you hear me?” 

Harry bit his lip. “I told him already —”

“It’s not enough,” Sirius said darkly, “whatever the hell you told him, it wasn’t enough.” 

“Siri-,” Harry leaned back as Sirius’ glare turned downright murderous, “ _-Black,_ sorry, I’m too used to…”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. 

Sirius’ arm shot out towards him, and Harry could only watch in frozen disbelief as Sirius grabbed the collar of his shirt and lifted him up so they were eye to eye. 

“That,” Sirius hissed, “ _that_ is what I can’t fucking stand about you!” 

“What?” Harry asked, bewildered. 

“You don’t know me. You don’t know _any_ of us. Don’t act like you do when you fucking don’t, you understand?” 

“But,” Harry swallowed as his voice caught in his throat, the grip on his shirt constricting it. “I _do_ know you, just —” 

“You don’t! I don’t care about your amnesia or your Seer bullshit, you don’t know a damn thing about my life!” Sirius shouted, his voice ringing in the hall.

Harry felt the first stirring of anger in his belly, his shock and sadness started to dull as he came to one, damning realization: “You’re right.” 

The hold on him sagged a little. 

“You’re right,” Harry repeated slowly, “I don’t know you. Pretty stupid of me to even think that.”

Harry looked straight into a stranger’s eyes. “The Sirius _I_ knew wasn’t a coward.”

A beat passed. 

“You _piece of_ —” 

“Sirius,” someone called from down the hallway. 

_Oh great,_ Harry thought sarcastically, _look who came to save the day._

Riddle was standing at the end of the hall, along with Remus and Meadowes. They had clearly been making their way down to training together. 

Harry’s face burned as he realized they had most likely overheard at least part of their argument. All three of them had stopped in their steps, particularly eyeing where Sirius was grabbing the collar of Harry’s shirt. Remus looked mildly alarmed, Meadowes was thoroughly unfazed, and Riddle… 

Harry scowled at the amusement dancing in Riddle’s dark eyes, visible beneath his practiced look of concern.

“Tom,” Sirius greeted neutrally, his entire stance shifting. He let go of Harry and turned away from him. “We were just heading to training.”

“As are we,” Riddle was smiling as he made his way towards them, Meadowes and Remus trailing after him. “And Harry, didn’t see you there. Are you both alright?”

 _“Didn’t see you there” my ass,_ Harry thought snidely, and didn’t bother with a response. He’d let Sirius handle it — it was his fault in the first place, for picking a fight.

“We were… chatting,” Sirius said calmly, though anyone could take one look at him and see he was lying; Sirius wasn’t exactly trying to hide his dislike for Harry, clearly.

“You’re with Moody for training, correct?” Meadowes cut in, looking at Sirius. 

Sirius nodded, glancing up at her. “I’d better get going soon.”

“Yes,” Meadowes agreed. “He doesn’t take to latecomers very kindly.”

Sirius grimaced. “Yeah. I’ll see you all later, then.” 

“We should hurry too,” Remus said as Sirius walked off, biting his lip. “McGonagall may be more lenient, but not by much.”

“Yes, let’s,” Riddle said. He then faced Harry, an innocent smile painted on his face. “Are you coming with us, Harry?” 

“Er, yeah.” Harry avoided meeting his gaze directly, and instead addressed the whole group. “We’re all in the fields, then?”

Remus nodded, falling in line with him as they started walking down the hall. “Tom and Meadowes are on Team Four with me.”

“Oh,” Harry tried not to notice the way Riddle came up on his other side, instead giving Remus his full attention. “That’s nice.” 

“It is. I’m no good at fighting, but those two are something else,” Remus said, smiling at Riddle across from Harry. 

“Nonsense. You sell yourself short, Remus,” Riddle said, and Harry mentally rolled his eyes. 

Merlin, what a flatterer. 

Remus laughed lightly. “It’s obvious to everyone else you both carry the group. Especially in the dueling exercises.”

“True, you’re not magically powerful,” Meadowes commented from ahead of them, and Harry winced at the harsh remark. “But you’re intelligent enough.” 

_Well, that’s one way to compliment someone…_

“You _are_ intelligent, Remus. I’m glad we’re on the same team,” Riddle said smoothly, “and especially for this exercise, we’ll need your strategic skills.”

Remus blinked, looking between Riddle and Meadowes with surprise. “Thank you. It… it means a lot.”

“Er,” Harry interjected, feeling a little out of place. He’d never seen Remus duel and didn’t want pipe in with something superficial. “Speaking of the exercise, what exactly is it?”

“Nobody filled you in?” Riddle asked, an air of innocence surrounding him. 

_That bastard…!_

Harry shot Riddle a glare, hopefully conveying his irritation since he couldn’t say anything in front of the other two. Riddle’s smile only grew wider, however, and Harry wished he could punch it right off his stupidly handsome face. 

“No,” Harry said sweetly, smiling up at Riddle. “Care to fill me in?” 

“Of course,” Riddle replied. “The agility exercise is fairly straightforward. Each side has a different objective: the offense must disarm their opponents, and the defense has to evade being disarmed until the timer is up.

“McGonagall will tell us which side we’re on before we start,” Remus said hurriedly, “speaking of which, I’m going to go ahead if that’s alright.”

He gestured to where Meadowes had already entered the gardens, her tall figure vanishing through the hedges. 

“Of course,” Riddle said, “we’ll catch up soon enough.”

Harry watched as Remus followed Meadowes’ path down to the gardens, and with a sinking stomach, realized he was left alone with Riddle. Again. 

“Look, I actually _do_ need to know —” 

Riddle raised his hand, cutting Harry off. “The offense is allowed to use transfiguration-based spells, simple charms, and of course, the disarming spell. The defensive side is only allowed to dodge and shield — with either a magical shield or a spell that will physically block the attack. This is to enhance the focus on agility, since the more powerful the spell, the more it takes out of you.”

“Though using elementary spells may not be as impressive in a formal duel, they are far more effective in actual fights — you’ll find that your stamina will not drain as quickly. Your focus should be solely on your agility. Hence, the name of the exercise.”

Harry stared at Riddle, mouth open in surprise. He’d always found Riddle’s voice grating, too polished to sound anything but conceited, and yet, just now… 

He swallowed around his suddenly dry mouth. “Yeah, uh, that makes sense. Thanks.” 

Riddle eyed him curiously. “You’re being rather docile today. Did your argument with Black really shake you up so much?”

 _Nevermind, his voice really_ is _annoying._

“I’ll show you docile,” Harry said dangerously, “once I have you disarmed before you can even say _protego,_ asshole.”

“Ah, there it is,” Riddle smiled at him sharply, “I’d even thought it might’ve been from our conversation yesterday.”

“About that,” Harry said, “are you planning to share who ‘he’ is anytime soon?”

“An answer for an answer?” Riddle offered immediately, a glint in his eyes.

Harry squared his jaw. “Not if it’s the one you… _asked_ yesterday.” 

“No deal.” 

“Pick another question, then,” Harry said quickly, “surely you can think of one —” 

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Riddle,” McGonagall interrupted, appearing from around the hedges. “Are you two ready to join us?” 

“Professor,” Harry said, caught off guard as McGonagall walked up to them with a pinched expression.

“Apologies, Minerva. I was merely briefing Harry in about the training,” Riddle explained, all traces of his previous countenance gone. 

McGonagall looked at them skeptically. 

_Right,_ Harry remembered. _We were supposed to do that yesterday._

Harry cleared his throat. “Er, we meant to talk about it but-, uh, I ended up asking too many questions about, um…”

“The contract,” Riddle cut in smoothly. “Harry was wondering about the Trace, since it is no longer used on underage magicals under Grindelwald’s regime.”

Harry blinked. The Trace wasn’t in use anymore?

“I see,” McGonagall said, though her face was still unimpressed. “I didn’t expect you to forget what I’d asked you to do, Tom. It is unlike you.”

“It was my fault, professor,” Harry said sheepishly. He saw Riddle raise his brow at the title, and struggled to contain the blush crawling up his cheeks. “I… was relentless. I _really_ wanted to know all about it, you know, academic interest and all —”

“And as you know, Minerva, I am not one to turn down such eagerness to learn.” Riddle pitched his voice a little lower. “Questions are meant to be answered.”

“Yes, thank you _Tom_ ,” Harry said rigidly, not looking at Riddle. “So we didn’t actually get to talk about training and all yesterday.” 

McGonagall sighed, but her stern frown had loosened. “Very well. I hope you both are ready to join us, then?”

“Yes ma’am,” they chorused, and again, Harry resolutely did not look in Riddle’s direction. He kept his gaze on the back of McGongall’s head as she led them to the fields, shifting as far away from Riddle as he could. 

Soon enough, they reached a clearing where everyone else was gathered, some people practicing spells while others loitered around, chatting amongst themselves.

McGonagall waved them off as someone else came up to talk to her, and Harry took the opportunity to make a beeline towards his own team.

He could feel eyes bore into him the whole way.

Harry shivered — but he couldn’t tell if it was from fear or excitement. 

_Maybe both._


	14. Chapter 14

“Harry! Over here!” 

Fabian waved excitedly from his place at the edge of the clearing, unknowing (or perhaps uncaring) of the attention he drew from all corners. 

Harry winced as he felt eyes on him, suddenly very conscious of the way he was walking. 

“Hi,” he said awkwardly once he was within speaking distance — not that that had stopped Fabian from yelling across the field. 

“Hey,” Fabian said with a grin. The rest of the team echoed with their own greetings. 

“Ready for dueling?” Emmeline asked. 

“Well,” Harry said slowly, “I don’t remember how much practice I’ve had before, but I understand the gist of the exercise well enough.”

“I don’t mean to be offensive,” Edgar Bones started, looking Harry up and down, “but do you _really_ know what you’re doing? I mean, the rest of us are seasoned fighters, you know —”

“Oi, lay off,” Fabian said, “I’m sure Harry will be just fine.” 

“It’s a team exercise. It’s nothing personal, but I don’t want a newbie dragging us down.” 

Emmeline snorted. “Like you did last week?”

“Hey!” Bones rounded on her, pointing at her accusingly.

“It’s true, though,” Emmeline shot back. “You _did_ let a stunner hit Benjy after lecturing him about guarding your right flank —”

“I said I was sorry,” Bones muttered, his ears turning red. 

“Er,” Harry said, trying to diffuse the tension, “where is Benjy, by the way?”

They both fell quiet at that. Harry’s brows furrowed as they seemed to deflate — while he _did_ want them to stop arguing, he didn’t mean like this. Did he say something wrong? 

“Benjy can’t come today,” Fabian said carefully. “Hestia and Ted are here, so…”

“He’s tagged,” Gideon cut in as Fabian trailed off. “Most with a bracelet choose to stay out altogether, but six of them participate even with the risks. Benjy’s one of them.”

Fabian nodded gravely. “So each of them are put on separate teams, and they work around each other to attend the meetings and trainings.”

“I-, I didn’t know.” Harry pushed down the feeling that he was _replacing_ Benjy. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Fabian assured him. 

“And hey,” Emmeline piped up, forcing a smile, “we would’ve had a group of six if Benjy was here, when the other two teams only have five _with_ Hestia and Ted. So it’s even!”

Bones scoffed. “Except we’ve got a newbie, so technically we’re at a disadvantage now —” 

“Plus,” Emmeline said loudly, speaking over Bones, “we’re on offense first. There’s not a lot of pressure there — just try your best to disarm someone until the clock runs out, but it’s no big deal if you can’t.”

“That’s right,” Fabian agreed, returning to his earlier cheer.

“What’s the order of the duels?” Harry asked. He was more than happy to move on from the touchy subject.

“Four and Five go first,” Emmeline said. “Then we’re against Five on offense. After that…”

“Defense against Four,” Harry finished, biting his lip. His eyes wandered above her shoulder, where he could see the other two groups gathered across the field. They were too far to make out each individual person’s features, but Harry could pick out the tall figure from the rest. 

_“Tom and Meadowes are on Team Four with me.”_

Defense against Four… which meant he wouldn’t have a chance to disarm Riddle. 

He pushed down the disappointment that welled up, and reminded himself that only meant he couldn’t let _Riddle_ disarm _him._ And next time… 

_Next time, I’ll do good on my promise._

Harry was pulled from his thoughts as a flare of orange sparks shot up from the center of the field, where McGonagall was standing with her wand in the air. A signal that they were starting, he guessed.

“Attention, all,” McGonagall’s voice was once again charmed to carry over the field. “We will begin the first battle shortly. Teams Four and Five, please standby.” 

“McGonagall’s joining Team Five today,” Emmeline commented beside him, her eyes trained on the two groups as they walked to their respective sides. “She’s amazing on defense; only been disarmed a couple times in this exercise in the past. And pretty decent on offense too, though we won’t have to worry about that today.”

Harry hummed. “Anyone else I should watch out for?”

“Riddle,” Bones and Fabian said in unison.

“Meadowes too,” Gideon stepped up on the other side of Harry, his eyes lingering on Team Four as they took up a defensive stance.

“They’re both insane at offense,” Emmeline gushed. “So… we _will_ have to worry about that today.”

Harry’s grip on his wand tightened. 

_Bring it on._

He watched as the other teams got into formation, eyes sharp as he tracked their movements. On the right was Team Five on offense, and on the left, Team Four on defense.

Harry easily spotted Riddle from this distance. He was in the center, wand lazily twirling in his hand as he stood in a half-crouch, saying something to Meadowes but keeping his eyes trained on McGonagall.

McGonagall, who was standing directly across from him with her wand pointed at the sky again. 

This time, instead of the orange flare from earlier, a stream of silver sparked into the air. A cat — _her patronus,_ Harry recognized — prowled to the center, a glowing light in between the two teams. 

“She’s using her patronus as a timer to make it fair,” Fabian murmured. “Look.”

The cat dipped its head, and then McGonagall’s voice rang out into the silent clearing: “Countdown begins… now.”

The two teams tensed at the words. Beside Harry, Emmeline and Fabian both seemed to hold their breaths, eyes bright as they watched with anticipation. Harry looked back at the field, resisting the urge to seek out Riddle’s figure again. 

“3…”

 _But really,_ Harry thought agitatedly. 

“2…”

_Is he even taking this seriously?_

“...1!” 

The field all but erupted in bright bursts of light, spells flying from Team Five. They sped towards the other team at an astonishing speed, so fast that Harry knew he would have missed it if he had blinked. 

But Team Four was ready for the attack; Harry watched in surprise as Remus and a witch he didn’t recognize leapt towards the front of the group, putting up an impressive shield to catch the initial attack. 

As more spells bolted from Team Five, the two quickly ducked out of the way and back into formation, where the rest of the team had set up a new shield to block the next barrage of spells. 

“The initial attack is the easiest to defend,” Emmeline said in a rush. “Since the teams get to start off in whatever formation they want, the defensive side usually stick together to create shields and cover each other.”

“So naturally, the offense needs to come up with a way to split them apart,” Fabian continued. 

Harry nodded, eyes narrowing as he watched the battle going on before them. So far, the defense was still upholding their initial positions. However… 

His eyes slid over to the right side of the field, where the offense was. They had yet to change formation either. And so far, they were all throwing spell after spell towards the other side… 

_No, not all,_ Harry realized. _Only four of them are._

“What’s McGonagall doing?” Harry asked under his breath. 

Emmeline looked over to the right. “More like… why _isn’t_ she doing anything?”

“That’s weird,” Fabian said, frowning. “Usually she’s the most ruthless one…” 

It was hard to see McGonagall, with the way her teammates seemed to all but crowd her. But there was clearly something wrong with how she was acting — and with her teammates constantly shooting spells towards the other side, nobody on Team Four seemed to catch onto it. 

Harry squinted at McGonagall; the way she was just standing there was odd, yes, but also… 

He took a step back, ignoring the way Emmeline and Fabian looked back at him with confusion. He tilted his head up a little, looking over the flash of spells and towards the far side of the field.

_There._

It was barely noticeable, but after using the same spell for so long, Harry could recognize that spell by now. 

Just a small shimmer in the air, a distortion of the background you couldn’t pick out unless you were searching for it.

“She’s using a disillusionment spell,” Harry whispered as he stepped back up to them, “and the McGonagall we see with her teammates is just an illusion. Look over there, can you see her?”

Emmeline and Fabian followed his gaze.

“Not really,” Fabian said, a frown tugging at his lips. “Then again, I’m not all that familiar with the spell.”

“I think I see it,” Emmeline exclaimed quietly, after a long pause, “but what is she… _oh._ ”

A spell shot out from where McGonagall presumably was; the _expelliarmus_ whizzed through the air and before anyone could react, hit the unsuspecting witch closest to her. 

“Hestia!” someone cried out, but her wand had already flown out of her hand.

“Jones: disqualified,” the patronus hovering above them intoned. 

The rest of Team Four — now catching onto what had happened — turned to where McGonagall was disillusioned. They were quick to adjust to the new threat, shields brandished in the blink of an eye. 

But Remus, who had rushed over to Jones, was vulnerable. Separate from the rest of his team, he became an easy target for both McGonagall and the other four members on Team Five. 

Though he managed to block McGonagall's disarmament, he couldn’t evade the one coming from the other side of the field. 

“Lupin: disqualified.”

Remus’ wand was out of his hand not 10 seconds after Jones.

“Woah,” Fabian said after a beat, “that was _brutal._ ” 

Emmeline made a noise of agreement, chewing on her lip.

“Three left,” Gideon added quietly. 

“That gives the offense a pretty big advantage,” Harry said, “but I’m guessing that’s the point of the exercise; to emphasize teamwork.” 

“Yeah,” Fabian put a hand on his chin, “and usually, after two people are out, it goes downhill straight away. But with Meadowes and Riddle still there?”

“They’ll make it,” Emmeline said confidently. 

Harry’s immediate reaction was to deny that; but as he observed the reinforced vigor of the defense, he wondered if Emmeline was right.

Because even with two members down, the shields still kept coming as fast as before. Between the blur of spells being thrown towards the remaining three members on defense, Harry could see shield and shield popping up at the perfect time and place.

“Yes, Dory!” Emmeline whooped, as three spells were absorbed by a web-like shield.

“...Dory?” Harry asked after the moment passed. 

“Her childhood nickname for Meadowes,” Fabian supplied as Emmeline fumbled. “God knows she’s the only one that can get away with it.” 

Harry could see why, considering the feat he had just seen her perform. And what with the imposing figure Meadowes struck on the field _and_ outside of it. Speaking of which… 

Bones whistled under his breath. “Damn, look at Riddle.” 

Emmeline nodded. “Not that he hasn’t always been good, but today he seems…”

“Extra focused?” 

“Yeah.”

As much as Harry hated to admit it, it _was_ an impressive sight. 

Riddle was vicious in his casting, even though they could only use shields. And despite being the only one without a partner — as Meadowes and another witch Harry didn’t recognize were back-to-back — he was more than capable of blocking the spells coming his way. 

But Riddle seemed to rely entirely on his magic to protect him. 

While he was certainly capable of being quick on his feet, he seemed to prefer staying within a small diameter of space, casting shield upon shield to block every attack. 

It was quite the feat, but… 

“Couldn’t he have just dodged that?” Harry muttered as he watched Riddle cast _another_ complex shield with too many wand motions for him to follow. “Show off.” 

Beside him, Emmeline disguised her laugh into a cough. 

“Soon you’ll see,” Bones said sagely, “it’s _much_ harder to think on your feet when you’re out there.” 

Fabian rolled his eyes, and Emmeline didn’t bother covering up her laughter this time. Bones sniffed haughtily, but before he could say anything, they were all distracted by a sudden yell from their left.

“Shit, Andromeda’s down,” Fabian swore. “Five against two now.” 

“How much time is left anyways?” Bones asked. 

Fabian clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “No idea.”

“20 seconds,” Gideon provided, “give or take.”

“Come on, Dory,” Emmeline said, clasping her hands together, “you got this!” 

The five of them watched with bated breaths as Riddle and Meadowes were all but bombarded with spells from all directions. Between the flying sparks and shimmering shields, Harry could barely see the two of them through it all.

But he could tell they weren’t working together — they were standing too far apart to cover each other. 

“They need to work together,” Harry hissed, “what the hell are they doing?”

“They’re too prideful,” Emmeline muttered.

Fabian snorted. “Anyone else and they’d be done for by now.” 

Harry had to reluctantly agree; somehow, despite the huge disadvantage, both of them were holding up their defenses at an incredible speed. 

He watched closely as Riddle stayed rooted in one spot, unlike Meadowes, refusing to dodge a single spell. The multitude of shields he had cast should have all but drained him by now. Merlin, he wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

And then, it happened: Riddle took a step backwards, evading a stray _expelliarmus_ coming from his left. 

Harry’s eyes widened. 

_It’s going to hit Meadowes —_

In the same instance, McGonagall’s patronus had suddenly leapt back into the center of the field. 

“Time’s up,” it announced, combusting in a shower of sparks that magically ceased all spells — including the one that would’ve disarmed Meadowes. 

Everyone slowly dropped their wands to their sides, immediately erupting into chatter. Harry watched with narrowed eyes as Riddle nodded towards Meadowes, no sign of hostility in his gaze. 

_Then why did he nearly sabotage his own teammate?_

The rest of Team Four who had been disqualified rushed over to the two, congratulating them loudly. 

Nobody else had noticed Riddle’s underhanded tacit to… to _what,_ though? What was the point in trying to disqualify Meadowes? To prove he could win by himself, five against one?

Harry swallowed down the suspicions rising in him, and instead turned his attention to where McGonagall was striding out to the center of the field. 

“Good work, all,” she announced, nodding to both teams. “Regroup and we’ll take a five minute break before Teams Five and Six face off.”

Harry turned to Emmeline. “That’s us, right?” 

“Obviously,” Bones drawled from beside her. Harry pretended not to hear him, nor the following yelp as Fabian elbowed him hard in the side.

“Alright, team.” Fabian cleared his throat, drawing all their attention. “Don’t let our newest addition break from formation; Harry, we’ll do our best to incorporate you, but you’ll mostly have to improvise if that’s alright. Just remember, only simple charms and the disarmament spell.”

Harry nodded as Fabian directed his gaze to him. 

“Good. As you saw in the fight just now, Team Five mostly used an all-out attack to distract the defense and rely on McGonagall’s trick to win. It was a decent plan, seeing as they managed to take down three out of five of the defense.” 

Fabian cleared his throat. “As for our plan… does everyone know the softening charm?”

“You mean, _spongify_?” Bones asked, perplexed. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Oh!” Emmeline exclaimed, eyes lighting. “It’s the one that makes hard surfaces rubbery, right? If all of us instantly use that on the _ground_ —”

“— they’ll lose their footing,” Fabian finished with a grin. 

“And none of them would shield their feet if we act quick enough,” Harry surmised. 

“Exactly,” Fabian said. “And the great thing about offense is that _we_ get to pick and choose our targets. As soon as the _spongify_ takes effect, throw a disarming spell to your target; if we can disqualify just one person, we’ll gain the advantage.”

“Three minutes before we start,” Gideon interrupted. Fabian shot his brother an exasperated look, to which Gideon shrugged.

“Alright, alright,” Fabian said, rolling his eyes. “Anyways, our main concern for this one is McGonagall. Both her incredible reflexes and control make it nearly impossible to trip her up, so there isn’t really a point to targeting her first.”

“And since Gideon and I tend to work better together,” Fabian continued, “we’ll try to take down Kingsley, who’ll prove difficult. You lot sort out the rest yourselves.”

“I’ll take on Ted,” Emmeline said immediately, eyes bright. “He got one above me last time.”

“And I’m going after my sister,” Bones said. 

Fabian laughed. “Sibling rivalry, eh? Guess that leaves Amos to you, Harry.”

“Amos…?” 

“Diggory,” Emmeline said. “Y’know. Probably talked about his kid Cedric the entire time you were with him.”

“Ah,” Harry said with a small grimace. Emmeline snickered.

A flare of orange shot out from the field, distracting them momentarily.

“Right then,” Fabian made eye-contact with each of them one by one, before a wide grin stretched across his face. “Let’s destroy them.” 

Emmeline whooped as Fabian pulled them all into a group hug — despite the loud refusals from Bones, the murderous glare from his own brother, and Harry’s rigid stiffness as soon as Fabian reached for him.

“Come on, Potter,” Bones bit out, pulling away from the group with faint but unmistakable color on his cheeks. “Diggory’s the one standing next to Amelia.”

The group dispatched, marching towards the center of the clearing. On the other side, Team Five was already lined up, wands at the ready. 

Harry followed Bones, lining up across from Amos Diggory. 

But Harry’s focus wasn’t on the wizard across from him; instead, his eyes were locked with dark ones on the sideline of the field, watching him intently. 

_Just you wait._

Harry tore his gaze away from Riddle, eyes hard as he stared down his opponent. He was barely aware of McGonagall’s patronus hovering above them, having already announced the beginning of the countdown. 

“3…”

Harry mimicked his teammates, pointing his wand straight out at Diggory.

“2…”

 _You’re next, Riddle._

“...1!” 

With a sharp flick, Harry pointed at the ground across from him and sent the strongest _spongify_ he could muster. And without hesitating, he shot an _expelliarmus_ right where Diggory was standing — or, by now, was fumbling as the ground underneath him turned to jelly. 

“Diggory: disqualified.”

A loud commotion drew up from the sidelines, but Harry didn’t waste a moment to look over. He disregarded the sight of a bewildered Diggory staring at his empty hand, and sought out his next target: Amelia Bones, who had blocked her brother’s attack. 

Without looking at his teammate, Harry joined Bones as his sister struggled to maintain her shield while attempting to cancel the _spongify_ underneath her. 

_Simple spells,_ Harry reminded himself as his speed increased and instinct took over. _Sticking charm, hovering charm, tickling charm…_

Then Amelia slipped for a second, the softening charm still on the ground underneath her — and Harry pounced at the opening. 

“Bones: disqualified.”

By the time her wand had clattered to the ground, Harry had already moved on. He heard someone call his name behind him, but paid no mind as he jogged over to where Emmeline was firing at her target.

The wizard, Ted, was back-to-back with Minerva McGonagall. 

Harry grinned. 

He joined Emmeline, firing relentlessly at the duo as they adjusted to Harry’s addition. His wand grew hot in the palm of his hand as he threw spell after spell, putting a little more force each time. 

But McGonagall didn’t let up; not even after Bones joined them, giving them the majority. They would need something more, something creative if they wanted to at least get Ted disarmed. 

Harry paused in his steps, an idea coming to mind.

“Emmeline,” Harry whispered, “I’m going to shoot a flare into the air. When I do, disarm your target — he’ll be distracted for just a split-second.”

Emmeline paused, and then nodded while keeping her eyes trained in front of her. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Harry nodded back, and then pointed his wand to the sky. “ _Vermillious!_ ” 

A burst of red sparks shot into the air — and as Harry had hoped, both McGonagall and Ted looked up instinctively. 

But while McGonagall had recovered in time to block Harry’s _expelliarmus,_ her partner wasn’t so lucky. 

“Tonks: disqualified.” 

Emmeline laughed breathlessly, giddy from her victory as she turned to face Harry. But just as she opened her mouth, McGonagall’s patronus spoke once more. 

“Shacklebolt: disqualified.” 

Harry blinked as he looked over to where the Prewett twins high-fived each other. It took a moment for the realization to sink in, as he observed the fallen wizard across from them. 

“The flare distracted him too,” Emmeline said excitedly. 

Bones nodded. “So all that’s left is…”

The three of them turned to face their remaining target.

Harry was the first to react, a disarmament racing towards McGonagall as she brandished her wand in front of her. The shield held strong as Emmeline and Bones joined him, but Harry could see the uncertainty in her eyes.

_Once Fabian and Gideon join in, it’ll only be a matter of —_

“Time’s up.”

The light forming at the end of his wand sputtered out, as did the patronus that had announced the match’s end all of a sudden. 

“So close,” Emmeline muttered. “We were _so_ close!”

Harry was about to respond to her, when McGonagall called out to him from across the field. She gestured for him to come closer.

“Excellent work, Potter,” McGonagall said once he had reached the center of the clearing.

“Um, thank you?” 

“I believe you’ve shocked us all with your… unexpected skill.” McGonagall looked at him for a moment. “Tell me, do you happen to remember anything from your past to explain this?”

“Er,” Harry shook his head, looking away from her. “No, not really…” 

She looked down at him with a neutral expression, before waving him off. “Your teammates must be eager to chat with you. We’ll talk later. Run along now, Potter.”

Harry thanked her again uncertainly, but before he could think too hard on it, he was suddenly bombarded by his teammates’ excited chatter. 

“Blimey, Harry!” Fabian cried out, and Harry abruptly found himself being shaken back and forth. “You crazy, crazy bastard! Where the hell did you learn to fight like that?” 

Harry fumbled. “Er, well…” 

“That trick with the flare, I never would’ve thought of that!”

“And Amos, he was out before I could even say _expelliarmus,_ literally —” 

“— why didn’t you tell us you could _actually duel_ —” 

Gideon sighed loudly. “Give him some space to breathe, guys.” 

The three of them quietened down at that, though the excitement still seemed to all but brim from Fabian, Emmeline, and even Bones. 

“Right,” Fabian said, clearing his throat. “We’ve got a few minutes before our next match starts.”

“We might have a chance against them!” Emmeline said excitedly.

“About that,” Gideon said, ever the serious one, “it’s likely they’ll sic Meadowes or Riddle on you, Harry.” 

Harry nodded curtly. “That’s fine by me.” 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Bones scoffed. “You may be decent, Potter, but you don’t know what you’re up against —”

“ _Silencio._ ”

Bones opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out. His face turned red as he caught onto the fact, and rounded on Emmeline — who didn’t even hide the fact that she was the perpetrator.

“Fine, fine,” she said through her laughter, cancelling the spell, “that was well-deserved though, just saying.” 

“We have a minute,” Gideon cut in. “Any plan, Fabian?” 

“Just stick together,” Fabian said, “there isn’t much we can do to prepare, other than keeping an eye on Riddle and Meadowes. We might as well head over now.”

The four of them nodded, following Fabian’s lead as he walked over to their side of the field. They stood together rigidly as Team Four finally broke apart, making their way over to the clearing.

Harry kept his gaze cool as Riddle took his stance directly across from him, a thin smile on his lips. There was a challenge glimmering in his lidded eyes, the grip on his wand loose. 

Who was Harry to refuse?

“The countdown begins,” McGonagall said, shooting a flare up from the sidelines. This time, she was the one announcing the beginning of the match rather than her patronus. 

“3…” 

Harry grinned despite the way his heart hammered in his chest. 

“2…”

Or, perhaps, it was _because_ of how his blood seemed to all but thrum with renewed energy, a mounting adrenaline building up inside of him.

“...1!”

Riddle moved as the last syllable left McGonagall’s mouth, his wand whipping out as fast as a snake. 

Harry jumped out of the way, sharp eyes tracking the way Riddle curved his wand to attack from a new angle. He blocked the spell this time, and then dodged the next. 

He didn’t have to think, just move. 

_Step right, duck, block the spell then step left—_

Harry panted, smiling as he all but danced out of the way, falling into a rhythm. It was a challenge for sure; if he blinked for a split-second too long, he would lose his footing and fall to Riddle’s deadly aim. But as of now, they were evenly matched.

And then Riddle suddenly ceased his rapid-fire spells, halting in his steps. Harry warily followed suit, but kept in a defensive crouch as he eyed Riddle curiously. 

“A little break, perhaps?” Riddle asked, his eyes dilated with excitement. “Unless you can keep up?”

_“A little break… a little pause…”_

Harry stumbled as the words hissed in his ear, his hot skin abruptly turning clammy and cold. 

“Potter?”

_“That hurt, didn’t it, Harry? You don’t want me to do that again, do you?”_

“Keep going, Riddle,” Harry snarled, pushing the vision away as he focused on the wizard, the _human_ across from him. Not… not the snake-like _thing_ that had flashed before him for a moment.

Riddle stared at him for a second longer, before heeding his words. 

_“I asked you whether you want me to do that again? Answer me! Imperio!”_

He sent a wave of spells towards Harry, just as fast and merciless as before. 

_“Obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die… perhaps another little dose of pain?”_

Harry grit his teeth as he put more force than necessary into his shield, his wand burning against his cold, cold skin. 

_“You cannot hide from me…”_

He ducked again, rolling to the ground before the cruciatus could hit him again. 

_“Come out, Harry… come out and play, then…”_

“No,” Harry hissed under his breath, ignoring the jeering coming from the cloaked figures surrounding them.

_“It will be quick…”_

Harry jumped up from the ground, his wand straight out towards _him._

_“It might even be painless…”_

A jet of red light blasted from Harry’s wand, meeting the green light coming from the other side mid-air — and suddenly, Harry’s wand was vibrating, his cold hand seizing as a brilliant, golden thread connected the two wands.

_The golden light connecting them splintered. Their wands remained connected as a thousand more beams arced high over them, crisscrossing all around them, until they were enclosed in a golden, dome-shaped web, a cage of light..._

_And then an unearthly and beautiful sound filled the air… it was coming from every thread of the light-spun web vibrating around them._

_Phoenix song,_ he thought in absentminded wonder. _The sound of hope._  
  


Harry let go of his wand. 

  
  



	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy. sorry about the delay, guys -- i was editing the first draft, but couldn't bring myself to like it sO naturally i scrapped the whole thing and rewrote it! woohoo. anyways, hope you enjoy :)

The first thing Harry noticed was the smell of grass. 

_Wet grass,_ he decided a moment later, breathing in the scent. _And mud._

He was lying down on the ground, face first. For a while, all he could do was breathe in the grass underneath him, his head swimming as he tried to make sense of the world around him. 

But he couldn’t remember why he was on the ground or how long it’d been or what the strange bubbling feeling was in his ears — 

“-rry? Harry!”

“What the hell was that?”

Noise. So much of it, all at once, drowning him in its abrupt clarity. A torrent of sound that was deafening as he tried to block it all out, to no avail. Voices, footsteps… screams?

_“What’s going on? What’s happened?”_

“...rules said simple spells only…”

“...spell gone wrong, maybe?”

Hands grabbed him around the shoulders and turned him over. Harry groaned at the motion, his stomach rolling with nausea. His hands grasped at the grass underneath him, the need to hold something growing with every second that passed.

_“Harry, let go of him.”_

Let go of who? 

His fingers squeezed the strands of grass he was clutching. He wasn’t holding onto anyone, that was for sure. 

Harry opened his eyes.

He was looking up at the blue sky, and someone was crouched over him. There were others crowding around them that his bleary vision couldn’t focus on either. But he could tell there were too many of them, pressing in around him, pushing nearer, trying to get a closer look. 

_“What’s wrong with him?”_

“...weird things always happening around him…”

“... seer visions supposed to be like that?”

Harry raised his hand, seizing someone’s wrist — whose face swam in and out of focus — and tried to force his lungs to stop inhaling so much air.

_“He’s dead!”_

Who was dead? What was happening? Who was talking?

But his mouth couldn’t seem to form the questions, and instead he could only lay there, head pounding as _“He’s dead!”_ was screeched into the night over and over again. 

No, it was clearly day. The sky was blue, not starry. Or was it? Harry couldn’t tell anymore.

“Did you see him earlier?”

“— looked like he was fighting for his life.”

He _had_ been fighting for his life. He was exhausted, and filthy, and _damnit he just wanted some space._ Why couldn’t they understand that? Why did they keep pushing so close, clamoring like a pack of vultures? 

“Harry,” a deep voice murmured above him, but there was another that overlapped his words… 

_“You can’t help him now. It’s over. Let go.”_

No. He _couldn’t_ let go of — 

“Cedric,” Harry whispered, his voice weak but urgent. “Where’s Cedric?”

The grip on his shoulder tightened.

“What’s he saying?”

“ — poor kid’s shaking —” 

_“Diggory’s dead!”_

Harry suddenly lurched forward, sitting upright, nearly banging his head straight into the man crouched above him. Harry heard him swear softly, adjusting to the position without letting go of his hand on Harry’s shoulder, keeping him steady. 

Harry’s own hand around the other’s wrist curled tighter. 

“Killed Cedric,” Harry mumbled. He used his free hand to grab blindly in front of him, fisting the man’s robes desperately. “They killed Cedric…” 

His hold sagged, head dropping to his chest. 

“He wanted me to bring him back,” Harry said softly; it seemed important to explain this. “He wanted me to bring him back to his parents…”

The hand on his shoulder tightened, and then fell away — only to wrap around Harry’s hand that was clinging to his robes. Gently, his fingers were pried off of the cloth, and then guided up and around the man so that his arm slung around the other’s shoulder. 

Before Harry could say anything, he was suddenly lifted from the ground and onto his feet. 

“Minerva,” Harry felt more than heard him speak, “I’ll take him away from all this.”

Harry didn’t catch what was said in response, but he did hear the command that followed shortly after: “All of you, clear out!”

Shapeless forms began to move before him, but Harry got the distinct feeling that they were reluctant to do so. How was he to know, though? 

The scene was flickering oddly before Harry’s eyes, so much so that he could barely tell between day and night, apparently… 

And then he was being half pulled, half carried through the slowly departing crowd. Harry could hear people muttering as they pushed through them, but soon the chatter was far behind them, fading away as they crossed the field and through tall garden hedges. 

His mind felt clearer with every step he took away from the overwhelming noise, the fog he had been submerged in gradually being replaced with blissful quiet.

And though the hush made the pain lancing through his head more noticeable, it was nothing he couldn’t manage. Instead, he tried to concentrate on the sound of his own breathing, setting a slow but steady pace. 

Eventually, he could only hear the soft inhale and exhale of air of his own breath.

...and of the person he was leaning against.

Harry abruptly dropped his arm, attempting to shove the other away and stand on his own. But the second he let go, his feet swayed underneath him and he nearly toppled over — and he would’ve, if it weren’t for the steadying hand that latched onto his forearm. 

“Riddle,” Harry whispered, finally recognizing him.

“How lucid are you?” Riddle asked, voice as hard as his bruising grip on Harry’s arm.

But Harry could tell he wouldn’t be able to stay upright without it, and so, reluctantly accepted the help for what it was. He needed to focus on getting his throat to open up, first, and breathe slower.

“Enough,” Harry bit out eventually, blinking past the dots that swam in his vision. “What happened?”

Riddle was looking down at him. “You started hallucinating during our duel.”

“...right,” Harry said eventually, flashes of _red eyes_ and golden light and phoenix song coming back to him. “Did… did anyone else see?”

“Many noticed your change in fighting style, yes,” Riddle conceded. “It was unquestionably _different._ ”

“Oh.”

“And,” Riddle continued, his eyes tracing Harry’s features, “they certainly noticed when our wands reacted.”

Harry sucked in sharply. “But-”

 _But that was- that was just a_ memory… _wasn’t it?_

“I don’t understand,” Harry shook his head, trying to clear the fuzz in his head, “The light, the phoenix — it was all real?”

“Yes,” Riddle said quietly. He was looking at Harry strangely. “Your wand core. What is it?”

“...Phoenix feather,” Harry said slowly, and thought back to the eerie yet beautiful sound he had heard earlier.

“As is mine.”

Harry’s lips parted in surprise, connecting the dots. “Do you think that’s why...?”

Riddle nodded. “There’s an exceedingly rare phenomenon that occurs between wands with cores that were harvested from the same creature. You must have received the brother of my wand from Ollivander.” 

Harry blinked, recalling when he had bought his wand from Ollivander.

_“Curious… curious.”_

Had Ollivander known? But even if it was such a rare occurrence, why was it so _curious_ that Harry had gotten the wand? It was bound to happen to somebody after all.

Harry frowned; he would need to pay the wandmaker a visit.

For now, though, he pushed all thoughts of Ollivander aside and focused on the wizard before him. “So what does it mean? Will that happen every time we duel?”

“Very likely,” Riddle said, his voice lowering. “Our wands cannot properly face one another. If you hadn’t let go of your wand when you had, they would’ve been forced to compete in a battle of wills —”

“My wand,” Harry interrupted, heart freezing in his chest, “where is it? What happened? Did you- did you disarm me?”

_If Riddle had disarmed him —_

“I just said you let go of it,” Riddle said with a scowl, his free hand moving towards his wand holster. “It was on the ground next to you. Here.”

Harry sagged in relief at the sight of his holly wand.

But his relief was short-lived; Riddle had stopped short, his hand curling tighter against the wand while staring at it in blatant fascination. 

“Remarkable,” Riddle breathed, twirling it in his hand once, twice. “It feels just like my own, if a little temperamental.”

“Riddle,” Harry said rigidly. “Give it back.”

The man looked up, tilting his head. He made no move to hand Harry’s wand over. “Why did you let go of it?” 

“I don’t know.” Harry exhaled slowly, feeling his head ache once again. “But I swear, Riddle, if you don’t —”

Riddle threw his wand into the air. 

Harry’s hand shot out, catching the stick from where Riddle had tossed it.

“Excellent reflexes,” Riddle praised, his smile sharp. 

Harry ignored him, cradling his wand to his chest for a moment. He refused to think about how it responded so warmly to him, when it had just done the same to a wizard like Riddle.

“Who are you, Harry Potter?”

Harry looked up at Riddle warily. The smile had slipped off of the man’s face, and he was looking at Harry in that strange way again.

But when Riddle started to speak once more, he was quickly interrupted by a noise from the other side of the hedges. 

They both whipped their heads towards the sound. It was garbled at first, but as it grew closer and closer, turned into distinguishable voices. 

People were approaching. 

Harry turned back to Riddle and attempted to step away, only to be stopped by Riddle’s hold on his arm. He tugged experimentally, looking back and forth between Riddle and the direction of the voices. “We should —” 

Riddle’s hand squeezed back in warning. “You and I have _much_ to talk about Harry. And I refuse to be interrupted this time.”

Harry glowered at him. While he somewhat shared the sentiment, he wasn’t sure he could keep up with Riddle in this state. He still felt like his head was stuffed with cotton.

“We can talk later,” Harry insisted. “Let go.”

Riddle’s dark eyes narrowed. “And what do you think will happen once I let you go? You can barely walk, let alone stand.”

“I don’t care,” Harry gritted out, trying to pull away from Riddle. But the man didn’t relent. Before Harry could protest, Riddle had stepped in closer with a long, drawn-out sigh — 

“I don’t have time for this.”

— and apparated them away.

* * *

“I cannot believe you did that.” 

“You knew I wasn’t feeling well,” Harry said hotly, glaring at Riddle. “Honestly, what did you _think_ was going to happen?”

Riddle glared back. “My dragonhide boots though? Really, Harry?”

“Oh, sorry, next time I’ll make sure to spew all over your posh dueling robes too.” Harry rolled his eyes as Riddle cast yet another cleaning charm on his _stupid_ shoes. 

Harry took another sip of water, hiding his smile. He’d thrown up all over Riddle’s feet the second they landed in his room in the manor, the side-apparation proving too much for his stomach to handle.

While the entire experience had been wholly unpleasant, it was worth it if only for Riddle’s horrified expression.

And, it’d given him much needed time to recuperate. 

“Seriously, though,” Harry continued, once it was apparent that Riddle was now going to go through his obnoxious cleansing procedure for the third time. “What’s the point of getting silver-trimmed robes for _dueling?_ You look like —”

Harry fumbled when Riddle suddenly got up, towering over Harry from where he sat on his bed. 

“Yes?” Riddle prompted.

“Like you’re overcompensating,” Harry finished sweetly, pushing down the ridiculous thought that had gone through his mind for a second. 

Harry’s brow furrowed when Riddle kept quiet and turned away from him, walking over to the windowsill wordlessly.

This was the second time he hadn’t risen to bait.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, eyeing Riddle as the other looked out the window in silence. The seconds ticked by agonizingly slow.

“You tried to suppress a vision,” Riddle said at last, still facing the glass. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Harry admitted. There was no point in hiding that obvious truth. 

“I thought I told you to stop that.”

“No? You said it would _deteriorate my mind,_ ” Harry said. “That’s all.”

Something in Riddle’s face twitched. “Your lack of self-preservation is truly astonishing. Are you deliberately disregarding your own life?”

“I’m trying to _live_ my life,” Harry said sharply. He swallowed, trying to tone down the roiling anger creeping in. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

Riddle went silent.

Harry watched him carefully, his annoyance growing even as he tried to reign it in. But what was it with Riddle today? 

As irritating as he usually found anything that Riddle said was, this odd silence was infinitely worse. 

“What point are you trying to prove?” Riddle asked softly. His whole body was rigid, still refusing to even look at Harry.

“I’m not —”

“Or,” Riddle interrupted, his voice so deceptively quiet, “ _who_ are you trying to prove a point to?”

Harry’s mouth opened, and then snapped shut.

_“He’s watching you.”_

“You think it’s…” Harry trailed off. 

If they really were thinking of the same person, why the hell would Riddle think he was trying to prove something to _Grindelwald?_

“No,” Harry said icily, “I’m not trying to prove _anything_ to _anyone._ ”

“Is that so?” Riddle asked, voice just as cold. 

Harry didn’t know when their conversation had taken such a drastic turn. Not that any of his conversations with Riddle in the past had ever been _peaceful_ — they’d always been downright hostile, prodding at each other, trying to uncover one another’s secrets. 

Now, though…

“Let’s stop tiptoeing around this,” Harry murmured. He kept his gaze trained on Riddle, knowing the man was listening intently. “You think-, no, you _know_ someone is keeping an eye on me. And I think we both know who that is.”

Riddle finally looked at him.

“Tell me, Harry.” Riddle’s dark eyes locked with his own. “What is your involvement with Gellert Grindelwald?”

He knew it. He _knew_ that Riddle knew more than he let on.

But it was still like a punch to the gut. 

_How? How did Riddle know? How_ much _does he know?_

Harry could only sit there as Riddle approached him, frozen as a hand reached out towards him. One long, slender finger pressed underneath his chin, tilting his face up towards the other. 

“I’m surprised,” Riddle started, cocking his head ever so slightly, “I thought you would deny it. In fact, I might’ve even believed you — after all, you aren’t faking your memory loss. I only knew Grindelwald was watching you; had you claimed ignorance, I would’ve assumed it was your amnesia.”

“Except that would’ve been a lie,” Harry said quietly, finding himself talking despite the numbness. “And then you would’ve known. Either way, you would’ve gotten your answer.”

Riddle chuckled. “Yes. Yes, I would’ve.”

“So is this my interrogation, then?” Harry asked. 

He almost felt… _relieved._ The ruse was up. No more pretending. He didn’t know how merciful the Order would be on traitors, but at least there was an end in sight. 

No more lying, no more betraying, no more acting like he was their friend when he was only an enemy. 

“Not quite.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“Why, Harry,” Riddle’s hand curled around his chin, tugging his face closer, “I’m not done playing with you just yet. There’s still _much_ to figure out, after all.”

Harry stared at him uncomprehendingly. 

“Did you really think I would turn you in?” Riddle asked delightfully, his eyes dancing with amusement. “When we’ve just begun?”

“But — but the _contract_ —?”

Riddle smiled cruelly. “A neat little thing, that. Surely you remember _who_ you tied yourself to when you signed it?”

“No,” Harry breathed, horror dawning on him. 

_…if Harry Potter is found liable… deemed as such by the Order… represented by Tom Riddle Junior… the Trace will be activated..._

And Riddle knew, he _knew_ Harry was somehow involved with Grindelwald. It didn’t matter how _much_ he knew. The contract stated that as long as Riddle accused Harry of violating the contract, then he could activate the Trace if he so wished. 

Harry knew he could fight well; this morning proved as much. 

But so could Riddle. 

_And with the Trace,_ Harry realized dazedly, _I have no chance._

“You’re threatening me,” he said eventually, in a calm voice that didn’t quite reflect what he was feeling. 

Riddle smiled. 

“Not exactly,” the wizard said, his grip on Harry’s chin loosening slightly. “I’m just _reminding_ you of the fact is all. It’d be such a shame to end the game so soon, don’t you think?”

Harry’s lips parted, eyes widening. “You’d risk the Order to — to _toy_ with me?”

“Oh, please. No matter your intentions for joining the Order, your virtuous morals are rather unmistakable, Harry. You’re hardly a _risk_ to anyone here.”

“What the hell,” Harry said, ripping free of Riddle’s clutches. “You’re _mad._ ”

“Possibly,” the man conceded, smirking faintly. “But who are you going to tell? Who would believe you, over me?”

And oh, how Harry _hated_ that Riddle was right.

“You —,” he began, fists clenching at his side.

“Wait.”

Riddle’s head snapped towards the door, holding his hand up to silence him. Harry made to keep talking, but Riddle’s next words stopped him: “someone’s coming.”

Harry turned towards the door, his ears straining to catch what Riddle had. 

Footsteps. They were light, but distinct.

“Stay,” Riddle said to him, before straightening up and striding towards the door. Harry bit back a retort, taking the relief from Riddle’s overbearing presence as a blessing. 

He watched warily as someone knocked on the door, Riddle taking a moment before creaking the door open a margin. But Harry could see a flash of bright red hair peeking out, and knew Lily Potter stood on the other side. 

She and Riddle exchanged hushed whispers, talking too quietly for Harry to pick up on. And before he knew it, Riddle had closed the door once again.

He faced Harry, back against the door. “McGonagall wants to speak with you. She’s down at the meeting room, waiting.”

Harry nodded rigidly; this didn’t surprise him in the slightest. 

“I’ll be taking my leave, then,” Riddle said, giving him a pointed look. “I’ll see you around.”

_I’d rather not._

Harry watched him turn back to the door silently, relieved to see nobody standing outside the door when Riddle pulled it open and stepped out.

“Oh, and one last thing,” Riddle put his hand on the frame, tilting his head back as he addressed him for the last time. “Do keep our brother wands a secret, won't you?”

And then he was gone.

Harry released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, dropping his head into his hands. He took a moment to just sit there, rubbing hard at his eyes.

Riddle was far more dangerous than he’d thought.

_Where the hell do your allegiances lie, Riddle?_

Harry got up on unsteady feet, refusing to dwell on what had just happened. He couldn’t right now. He just _couldn’t._

He detachedly made his way out of his room, passing through the halls in a daze. 

What was he going to tell McGonagall? To everyone? 

_I had a vision. I don’t remember anything. Ask Riddle._

That was simple enough, right?

“Harry!” 

He groaned inwardly, recognizing Lily’s voice. Why was she here? Had she been following him?

Harry quickened his pace. 

“Wait —,” Lily’s voice grew closer and closer, her steps quickening. The only way he’d be able to lose her was if he broke out into a run. Which would look too much like he was running away — which he was, but, well.

Harry stopped.

“What,” he asked flatly once he heard her reach him, though he didn’t turn to look at her. 

“I just-,” Lily let out a drawn-out breath, “I heard what happened, and… I just want to talk.” 

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “I told you to give me —”

“You told me nothing,” Lily said.

“Fine,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “I told _Marlene_ to tell you to give me space. Better?” 

Lily edged around him, until she was in his sight. Harry resolutely didn’t look at her.

“Are you okay?”

 _Merlin._ This was the last thing he needed right now.

Why couldn’t she just leave him alone? 

Sirius was right, it _was_ unnatural how well they all got along when they’d only just met. He didn’t really know any of them. 

Now he just needed to make that clear.

“No,” Harry said slowly. “I’m not okay.”

Lily softened. “What can I do to —” 

“I’m not okay, because _you_ keep bothering me. Stay away from me, Lily.” Harry swallowed past the lump rising in his throat. “Just- stay away.”

For a moment, he really thought it would work. That Lily would walk off without another word, or rather, that she would let him walk away. 

But as soon as Harry took that first step, Lily blocked his path. “No.” 

“Lily-” 

“ _No,_ Harry.” She took a deep breath. “I can’t stand to see you fall apart like this. Not under my watch. So no, I won’t stay away. Not until I know _someone’s_ looking out for you, if it can’t be me. Not until you’re getting the help you need.” 

Harry scowled. “I don’t need help, I’m not a child —”

“But you are! We _all_ are.” Lily took a step closer. “We’re just kids, Harry, in this screwed up system that keeps letting us down.” 

“Yeah, well, that’s how it is.”

Her gaze hardened. “Seriously? Then what’s the point? Why join the Order? We’re here to change this, to make a better future for others _and_ for ourselves.” 

“I know,” Harry said quietly. “Which is why I can’t be asking you for help, Lily. You need to focus on the Order. Stop worrying about me.” 

“Just because I’m helping one person, doesn’t mean I can’t help another. It’s not- It’s not like my focus has to be divided or anything,” She said hotly. 

“Lily —”

“At least let me help you find _someone_ who can help?” 

Harry didn’t bother hiding his sigh, utterly defeated. How far did he have to go, what line did he have to cross to make them forget about him, to _hate_ him enough to leave him alone? 

But looking at Lily’s stubborn face… he had a feeling it would be very, very difficult. _Merlin,_ what a nightmare.

“Okay,” he said finally, “alright. But it has to be someone outside the Order.” 

If that’s what it took to shake Lily off of him, Harry supposed he could go along with this ruse.

What he didn’t expect was Lily to actually _perk up_ at that.

“I know just the person.” 

  
  



End file.
